


Of Wolf And Man: From Childhood's Hour

by AlElizabeth



Series: Wolf Like Me [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Family, Gen, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 46,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4495845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Dean is 18, Sam is 14. After a werewolf hunt turns devastating, Dean and John must live with the consequences and work together to protect their youngest family member.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Devils Lake, North Dakota

Dean Winchester stepped on a fallen tree branch, grimacing silently as it snapped, the sound echoing throughout the wooded area.

He looked up and saw his father and younger brother walking a few feet away from him. Close enough so they could easily see each other but not close enough to make them easy targets for their prey.

It was the last night of the full moon and their last chance to kill the werewolf that had been terrorizing the residents of the sleepy, little city. If they didn't get the beast that night, they'd have to wait a whole month! But Dean knew his father was pretty sure the werewolf was the principal of the Devils Lake High School.

The rustle of leaves off to Dean's right had him sweeping the bushes with his flashlight, silver-loaded gun aimed and ready.

A white-tailed deer burst from the underbrush and Dean stumbled back, startled.

Dean jumped again when he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked around to see his father.

"The beast must be close," John said in a barely perceptible whisper.

Dean nodded and his father moved silently away. The young man scolded himself for being such a coward. He had hunted werewolves before; he should be used to surprises.

Dean's gaze traveled to his younger brother, walking carefully a few feet ahead of him. He frowned. Their Dad was supposed to be point! Sam must have gotten ahead of them.

"Sam!" Dean hissed, trying to get his brother's attention.

The younger boy looked over his shoulder and stopped walking. John stepped out of the shadows and spoke to his youngest son, his words too quiet for Dean to hear. Sam nodded and nimbly walked back toward his older brother.

Dean caught his father's eye and lowered his chin. He knew his job was to be backup and protect his younger brother. Sam wasn't even supposed to be with them- he should be back with the Impala like he usually was- but there were no other hunters in the area available and a werewolf hunt took more than two men. Reluctantly, John had given his youngest son a gun, a flashlight and explicit instructions to follow his and Dean's orders. So far Sam had done well, seeming to enjoy being allowed to hunt along with his family instead of being left alone in the car, more than anything else.

The three Winchesters stepped forward another few meters, ears and eyes alert for any sign of trouble. Dean was getting worried that the werewolf wouldn't show up. Its first victims had been killed only a few dozen feet into the woods and by now they were miles into the densely forested area.

Maybe it caught onto us and found a new hunting ground, Dean thought and wondered if he should tell his Dad his concern.

A low growl off to his left captured Dean's attention and he halted, gun and flashlight poised. From the corner of his eye he saw his father and brother stop as well.

Another growl sounded, this ending in a low whine. Dean heard his father's heavier footsteps moving closer toward the source of the noise.

Without warning the werewolf leaped forward, clipping Dean and sending his flashlight to the forest floor where it smashed against a rock and went out. The young man grabbed onto a sapling to keep from ending up on his ass.

"SAM!" Both Dean and John shouted out as the monster landed on their youngest, sending him to the ground under its immense weight.

Dean lifted his gun and took a shot; the bloated moon casting the wolf's massive back in silhouette against its cold, white light.

The bullet grazed the werewolf's shoulder but it was enough. The creature reared up on its hind legs, its chest exposed.

The crack of a gun made Dean flinch uncharacteristically and the monster howled before toppling over. As the wolf died, it transformed back into its human form. Dean didn't even spare the time to realize that his father's suspicion had been correct as he rushed past the naked corpse of Principal Richards.

Dean fell to his knees beside his little brother. Even in the moonlight he could see that the front of Sam's jacket was soaked through with blood.

"Oh God, Sammy," Dean cursed and felt tears well up in his eyes at the sight of his brother's blood.

John kicked the werewolf's body out of the way and crouched down, his flashlight illuminating Sam's prone form.

"He's still breathing, Dad! He's still alive!" Dean exclaimed as he bent over Sam's face.

"We have to get him out of here, Dean," John's voice trembled slightly as he spoke.

Gently, Dean slipped an arm underneath his brother's shoulders and an arm underneath his knees, lifting him up.

"I'll come back later and deal with this," John motioned with his flashlight at the corpse.

Dean nodded but his attention was focused wholly on his brother.

"I…uh, I think he dropped his gun," Dean told his father, "When he got hit, you know?"

John nodded and found the weapon a few feet away from where the werewolf had attacked. He brushed dirt off the pistol and put the safety on before slipping it into his jacket pocket along with his own weapon.

W

Dean resisted the urge, the voice, that was telling him to full-out run with his brother to the Impala as fast as he could go.

He could hear Sam's breathing but his stillness worried Dean. There was no way to tell how badly he had been hurt until they had more light. Dean fought back tears. He couldn't lose Sam, he just couldn't!

As Dean walked he muttered comfortingly to his brother, unsure if Sam could actually hear him.

"It'll be okay, Sammy," Dean cooed, "Don't worry… we'll have you fixed up in no time."

John was silent as he followed his oldest son through the forest but Dean was sure he was keeping an eye open for any nocturnal predator that might be drawn to the smell of blood. The hunter didn't kid himself, although the biggest threat was dead, there were still regular wolves and bears in the area.

Dean could have cried with relief when the Impala came into view, like their savior.

John unlocked the car's back door and Dean laid his brother down on the bench seat. There was little they could do for Sam until they got back to the motel but John grabbed a thick, wooly blanket from the trunk and handed it to his eldest son.

Dean climbed into the backseat with his brother, cocooning him in the blanket and sat with Sam's head and upper-body on his lap.

Dean ran a shaking hand through his brother's long, dark brown hair reassuringly.

The drive back to the motel that had taken the Winchesters a half hour earlier that day seemed to take only seconds now. Dean blinked as the Impala stopped in the pool of light from the light outside their room.

Dean jumped when his father opened the back door and held his arms out.

"Pass Sam to me," He instructed in a no-nonsense though, fearful voice, "Now, Dean!"

It was dark still and deathly quiet. No one would be paying any attention to them.

Carefully, Dean hoisted his brother's still form up and John grabbed his youngest son.

Dean followed silently as John unlocked the door to their motel room and stepped inside, turning on all the lights.

Dean stepped over the salt line and closed the door behind him, locking it as John laid Sam down on one of the beds.

Now that they were in the brightly lit motel room, Dean could see San's jacket was soaked through with blood and his heart leaped into his throat at how pale his younger brother was.

"Help me get his clothes," John had begun peeling Sam's windbreaker off, his voice full of worry.

Dean stepped forward and tore Sam's t-shirt down the middle so he wouldn't have to try and wrestle his brother out of the bloodied garment.

"No," Dean breathed when he saw the amount of blood on Sam's narrow chest.

All Dean could do was pray that the werewolf hadn't bitten his brother. Although a werewolf's claws were razor sharp they didn't have venom, unlike its dagger-like teeth.

John rummaged around in his duffle bag before pulling out a flask of holy water. He uncapped the bottle and held it over his son's abdomen.

The smell of blood in the room was cloying and both older Winchesters wrinkled their noses at the coppery tang.

"Better grab a washcloth, Dean," John suggested and Dean came back from the tiny bathroom with all four of the cloths provided and a couple of threadbare white towels.

John carefully poured the water over his youngest son's chest and belly while Dean mopped up the mess gently with a washcloth.

As the two worked, they could see red gashes criss-crossing Sam's chest. Dean grimaced at the cuts and was glad his younger brother was unconscious.

"Hold on Dad, there's another on his shoulder," Dean pulled his brother's shirt down to expose his left shoulder and gasped, "Oh my God."

Both John and Dean stared unbelievingly at the bite on Sam's shoulder. The wounds were deep and dark red with black bruising already surrounding them.

Quickly, John splashed holy water onto the marks and let out a groan when they sizzled and steamed.

Dean's heart had lodged in his throat so that he couldn't seem to catch a breath.

No, Dean thought frantically as he wiped holy water away from the injured shoulder; no, no way, this can't be happening!

"D-Dad?" Dean said in a small, scared voice and looked frightfully up at his father, waiting for a reaction.

"FUCK!" John shouted and threw the flask of holy water to the floor, "God damn it!"

John raised his hands to the sides of his head and gripped tufts of his black hair in his fists, his face turning red in anger.

"M-maybe the holy water'll fix it," Dean suggested hopefully and stood to retrieve the flask.

This couldn't be happening, not now, not tonight. This was Sam's first werewolf hunt and it wasn't supposed to end like this! Sam was only fourteen fucking years old for God's sake!

"You'll be alright, Sammy," Dean whispered, "You'll see. Dad n' me will fix you up good as new."

Through tear-filled eyes John looked at his sons.

"Dean, we have to… Son, Sammy's been bitten," He said in a broken voice, "You know what we have to do."

Dean froze in the act of wiping still-seeping blood from the cuts in his brother's chest and turned large eyes to his father.

Dean knew that they wouldn't have a choice. They were hunters and Sam had just been marked by one of the creatures they hunted. Dean watched as John pulled his gun from his jacket and took the safety off.

John closed his eyes when a soft moan escaped Sam's lips and his green eyes opened to slits.

"D'n?" He breathed and Dean grabbed his little brother's hand.

"Hey, Midget," Dean gave a watery smile.

"H-hurs' D'n," Sam whispered and his eyes widened.

"I know buddy," Dean said and gave his brother's hand a squeeze, "It'll go away in a minute."

Dean released his brother's hand and sat back, looking at their father.

John still had his gun pointed at his youngest son's chest but his hand trembled. Sam looked so tiny, so pale and vulnerable. He was in pain and had no idea what was going on. John simply couldn't imagine his little boy as a bloodthirsty werewolf but he knew that it didn't matter what he imagined because it was real, no matter what he thought.

He saw tears spilling silently down his oldest son's cheeks- John didn't think Dean even knew he was crying- and his hands clenched into fists.

"Dad?" Sam said in a small voice and that broke John. He lowered the weapon and set it aside.

John grabbed a First Aid Kit instead and moved to his boy's side. Dean was staring at him with wide, shocked, hopeful eyes.

John nodded that it was okay and Dean gave a choked sob of relief.

SPN

For the next hour the two eldest Winchesters worked to patch up their youngest. Dean and John didn't speak except to ask for this or that from the First Aid Kit.

Sam had passed out not long after waking up and that made all the stitching and bandaging go a whole lot faster.

Once Sam was comfortable and in no more immediate danger, John left his sons to finish cleaning up the mess in the forest… and do some serious thinking.

John drove slowly. He was in no hurry- the werewolf was dead and the people of Devils Lake were safe- but not his son… oh God, why did it have to be his son?

John's hands tightened on the Impala's steering wheel. He never should have taken Sam along on the hunt. This was his fault. He should have just taken Dean… Sam didn't have nearly enough experience with something as dangerous as a rabid, foaming werewolf.

John parked the Impala at the same spot as before and gathered the supplies he'd need from the trunk- a can of gasoline, salt, a couple books of matches and a shovel- before slamming the lid shut and marching off through the underbrush.

He should have been watching out for his son. Now Sam was paying the price for John's stupidity.

The older hunter didn't know what he was going to do. There was no way in Hell he could shoot his boy, even if he did become a werewolf. Sure, John would kill any monster out there but when that monster was his son…

He found the body of the late Principal Richards and spared a sad look at the unfortunate man, knowing it wasn't his fault he had become a monster. John sighed and set down his tools to begin searching for cordwood to build a pyre.

John prayed that Dean was right and that the holy water would purify the wound in Sam's shoulder, burn away the werewolf venom… but he knew he wouldn't be that lucky. They were too late. The werewolf poison was already flowing through his youngest son's veins.

He swept an area of the forest floor clear of debris and settled the dead man's body into a more dignified position. Next, John carefully surrounded the corpse with branches and dry leaves until it was completely covered.

There has to be something, John thought, some sort of cure out there for Sam. He determined to find a way to make his son human again, to make up for his mistake. John would research and talk to anyone who might have an idea about werewolves. Surely, they'd been around long enough someone would have created a cure.

John threw great handfuls of salt onto the construction of branches and leaves. Once he was satisfied, he uncapped the can of gasoline and doused the pyre with the flammable liquid, watching the salt crystals melt in the gasoline.

They'd take precautions, make sure Sam's life remained as normal as possible. He could still go to school and even hunt with them. No one would have to know the truth about him. John and Dean would be careful around other hunters. John already trusted very few in the hunting community and he knew that when it came to his brother's safety, Dean was more protective than a mother Grizzly bear with her cub.

John took a book of matches from his pocket and flicked the tip of one against the striking surface. He peered into the tiny flame for a moment- blue surrounded by orange- and thought about how he'd almost been prepared to shoot his own son, how he might have been doing this for Sam right now.

John tossed the match onto the pyre and watched as the gasoline and dry wood caught fire quickly.

Never again would John even think about killing his son. There was still a chance… there was always a chance and he would make things right again.

John didn't notice the tears that were leaking down his face as the fire consumed the pyre. When Sam was feeling better they'd go to Bobby's and stay there for while. John thought that there had to be something in the older hunter's extensive collection that could help Sammy and even if there wasn't, well, Bobby had connections that John couldn't even dream of.

Once the flames had died down to embers, John turned them over a couple of times with the spade he had brought to make sure there was no evidence left behind.

He walked a little faster back to the Impala, eager to tell Dean his decision and get out of Devils Lake.

Don't worry, Sammy, John sent the thought out to his youngest son as though the boy would be able to hear it, I'll fix this. I'll make everything better.


	2. Chapter Two

As soon as John left to take care of the werewolf Dean crawled into bed beside his brother- something he hadn't done since the both of them were very young- and leaned against the headrest with Sam's upper body against his torso.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's middle, holding him gently, and just concentrated on the sound of his breathing, of the feeling of his chest rising and falling.

This is my fault, Dean thought; Dad told me to protect Sammy- that's my job- and I nearly got him killed tonight.

Dean decided that he would make it up to his brother, he would protect Sammy even better now that he'd seen what could happen if he made a mistake.

"Don't worry Sam," Dean whispered to his sleeping brother, "I'll protect you. I won't let anything bad happen to you."

Dean blinked away the tears that were threatening to overflow (again) and sniffed.

"Dad and I will figure out how to fix this," He promised, speaking in an even softer tone.

Sam shifted in Dean's arms and let out a moan. Dean put his palm against his brother's forehead to check his temperature.

Dean sighed and hugged his brother tighter. Sam's skin was hot and clammy.

"Don't be scared, Sammy," Dean whispered in a watery voice, "I've gotcha."

The past few hours had been physically and emotionally draining and he was exhausted. Dean laid his head back against the wooden headboard and closed his eyes.

W

Dean woke suddenly at the sound of the motel door opening. His entire body tensed up, ready to protect Sam when John stepped inside, a greasy take-out bag clutched in one hand and drink tray with coffees in the other.

"Shhh," Dean put a finger to his lips and indicated his still-sleeping brother.

John smiled apologetically and sat the bag of food on the table.

Dean squirmed out from under his brother, propping him up against the pillows and went to greet their father.

"Did you get things sorted out?" Dean asked as he rooted around in the take-out bag.

"Once Sammy's feeling up to it I'd like to head over to Bobby's," John said quietly.

Dean looked up at his father in surprise. John and Bobby had had a falling out several years ago and at the time it seemed as if the two men hated each other so much they would never set foot in the same state again.

Dean smiled at the thought of seeing Bobby… even if the circumstances surrounding their visit weren't great. He missed the burley, crass hunter; the man was like another father to him and Sam.

"He wake up yet?" John asked as Dean pulled a foil-wrapped breakfast sandwich from the bag.

Dean shook his head, "Maybe we should just let him sleep… to recuperate, you know?"

Truthfully, Dean didn't want his brother to wake up anytime soon because if Sam woke up that meant they'd have to tell him what had happened… And Dean was not in the mood to drop that little present into his brother's lap.

John nodded, "The kid needs all the rest he can get right now."

The two eldest Winchesters ate their breakfast in silence. Both took turns- it seemed- to glance in the direction of their injured family member but neither said anything about it.

"I think Sam's getting a fever," Dean mumbled as he stuffed the last bite of sandwich into his mouth.

John immediately got up and went to his youngest son's side. He placed a large, calloused hand on Sam's forehead and frowned.

"Did you check the dressing?" John asked Dean and the young man shook his head.

"We just put 'em on!" He argued defensively.

John ignored his son and pulled the covers away from his sleeping youngest to expose his chest.

Dean watched, slightly irritated, as his father checked underneath his brother's bandages and then shook his head, returning to the table.

"I think he'll be fine," John commented, "He's not bleeding and although he's a little warm I think it's mostly from the injury and not fever."

That relaxed Dean somewhat. He leaned back in his chair and gulped down some of his coffee.

"You think Bobby will be able to help?" Dean asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.

John ran a hand through his black hair, "I hope so. At any rate, Sam will be safest at the Salvage Yard."

Dean nodded. His father looked willing to call off any hunting for a while… at least until they had explained everything to Sam and had figured out what they were going to do.

W

Dean stayed in the motel room with his sleeping brother for the rest of the day. He didn't mind, really; after all it was his job to look after Sam.

He watched television for a while before he began to pace around the motel room, casting worried glances at his brother.

Sam shifted in bed and his head moved from side to side.

"Hey," Dean sat down on the edge of his brother's bed and brushed Sam's bangs away from his brow, "It's okay."

"Huuuhh," Sam groaned. Dean leaned closer to his brother, knowing he was having a nightmare- something Sam had been prone to ever since he was a little boy- and could feel the heat radiating off him.

Sam's legs moved under the covers, kicking out.

"Sammy," Dean laid a cool hand on his sibling's forehead, "Take it easy. It's okay."

Sam's eyes darted beneath their lids and opened slightly, the dark green just peeping through, "D'n?"

"Yeah," Dean gave a half-hearted smile, "I'm right here, buddy."

"Daaa?" Sam and tried to sit up, still mostly asleep.

Dean wrapped one arm around Sam's shoulders, propping up the pillows with his free hand, "Hang on a sec, Sammy. There ya go."

Sam shook his head a little, as if to clear it, and blinked his eyes owlishly.

"You with me?" Dean asked and rubbed his brother's arm comfortingly.

Sam nodded slowly.

"What… happened?" Sam enunciated each word carefully.

Dean ran a hand over his face; here comes the moment of truth.

"We got the werewolf," He started off, deciding to go with the good news first.

Sam tried to smile but it came out as pained grimace.

"You want a Tylenol or something?" Dean asked concernedly.

"I'll… be okay," Sam refused.

Damn, Dean knew he wouldn't be able to stall for much longer. He had to tell Sam what had happened to him.

Sam peered down at his bandaged chest, touching the white strips tentatively.

"Am I okay?" He asked slowly and Dean gulped.

"The thing got ya… but the cuts aren't that bad," Dean whispered, sounding more confident than he actually felt. He could see his brother's eyes already beginning to close with fatigue.

"Sam!" He said loudly, "Stay awake for a minute; there… there's something else I gotta tell you."

Sam's eyes opened slightly wider, "What? Does Dad want to leave soon? Where is he?"

"Dad just went out for a little bit," Dean said, "To get lunch, I think."

"Okay," Sam said and his gaze drifted away from his brother.

"Sammy," Dean's voice grew thick, drawing his younger sibling's attention back toward him, "We killed the werewolf… but it… got you too."

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion, "You said I wasn't hurt too bad!"

Before his brother could panic, Dean quickly spoke, "And you are going to be okay… you are! Dad and I are gonna find a way to fix this!"

Sam froze, his eyes widening with anxiety, "W-what are you ta-talking about, Dean?"

Dean reached out and grabbed his brother's wrist, feeling his pulse hammer against his fingers, "The werewolf didn't just claw you, Sammy… it… damn it! It bit you too!"

Dean held his breath, waiting for the realization to sink in.

"N-no!" Sam stuttered, his voice full of fear, "No way, no freaking way!"

Dean nodded mutely, his eyes filling with tears, "I'm sorry."

Sam looked down at his chest and began to panic, fingers clawing at the bandages.

"Sammy," Dean cried out, "Sammy, no!"

He grabbed his brother's flailing arms and held his wrists together.

"Dean! Why?!" Sam asked, his own eyes welling up and overflowing.

Dean looked up to see their father standing in the doorway, frozen in place, staring at the scene before him.

"Why?" John rumbled, not moving from his spot, "Because I made a mistake, Sammy. I never should have taken you on the hunt with us. I should have known you weren't ready and it's my fault."

Sam stopped struggling against Dean, going limp and burying his head against his brother's chest.

"No," he mumbled, "It's not true… Please say it's not true."

"I'm sorry, son," John whispered from where he stood.

Dean let go of his brother's wrists and motioned his Dad over. He couldn't do this alone.

John took stilting steps forward and sat down on the edge of Sam's bed beside his eldest.

Sam's pale, tear-streaked face turned to his father.

"Sam, we are going to fix this," John told his boy, "I promise you that."

Sam sniffed and buried his face deeper into his brother's shirt.

John reached out and laid a hand on his boy's head. He could feel Sam shake underneath his palm.

W

Sam fell into a restless slumber and Dean left his side to go speak with their father.

John sat with his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his fists. Dean had his arms crossed over his chest.

"How do you think he's taking it?" John asked, somewhat rhetorically.

Dean shrugged, "As well as possible, I guess."

John nodded and ran his hands through his black hair, "I think we should head out tomorrow morning."

"You think Sammy will be up to it?" Dean asked, his gaze traveling across the room to his brother.

John nodded, "He's already woken up once. He should be okay to travel."

A thought crossed Dean's mind, "Dad?"

John grunted in response to his son's lowered voice.

"What if we can't fix Sammy?" His voice trembled slightly at voicing his fear.

John's eyes turned steely, "Don't even think that, Dean! We are going to find a way to cure Sam!"

Dean nodded, "Okay."

Both Winchesters slipped into their own thoughts after that. Each praying that their worst fears would not be realized and that they would find a way to return their youngest back to normal.

SPN

Sam stared out the back window of the Impala as it pulled out of the motel parking lot. The drive to Bobby's would take about six and a half hours. For Sam, it felt like it would last forever. It was five forty-five in the morning- way too early to be awake- but John was impatient to get to Sioux Falls. He had told his sons that they could always sleep in the car.

Dean sat up front beside John, turning on the radio and singing along to Black Sabbath's 'Bark at the Moon' when it came on.

Sam stared blankly at the scenery they passed for a few minutes before his eyes slipped closed of their own accord and his head rested against the passenger window as he fell asleep.

W

Sam woke suddenly; Dean was turned around in the front seat and was shaking his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Sam groaned, peeling his eyes open to glare at his brother.

Why couldn't Dean just let him sleep?

"You feeling okay?" Dean asked, concern marring his youthful features.

Sam blinked, realizing that the Impala wasn't moving and that John wasn't in the driver's seat.

"Huh?" Sam asked and peered out the window. They were sitting in a McDonald's parking lot.

"Dad's getting us food," Dean explained needlessly, "He said you should have something to eat. You haven't eaten anything since before the hunt."

"Oh… m' not hungry," Sam said sleepily.

Dean frowned, "Ya gotta eat something, Sam. It'll help you heal."

Speaking of healing, Sam noticed belatedly that his chest was itchy. He scratched at the bandages underneath his t-shirt.

"Let me see," Dean clambered into the back seat, ignoring his brother's protests and pulled Sam's shirt up to reveal the white bandages.

Sam tried to slap his brother's hands away but Dean deftly grabbed a corner of the bandage and pulled it away from his sibling's chest.

"Huh," Dean muttered, one eyebrow raised and a half-worried half-astonished look on his face.

"What is it?" Sam asked; panic already starting to gnaw at his belly.

"You're healing really well, Sammy," Dean sat back, "Amazingly well in fact."

Sam peered at his brother curiously.

"Does your chest hurt? Or… or your shoulder?" Dean asked tentatively.

"No," Sam said in amazement, "They haven't hurt since Dad woke us up this morning."

"At all?" Dean pressed and Sam shook his head.

A tapping on the window alerted the boys that their father had returned. Dean unlocked the back passenger door and John poked his head in.

"Feeling okay, Sammy?" He asked.

"I don't think Sam needs the bandages anymore," Dean informed him darkly.

John looked surprised. He paused to sit the take-out bag on the Impala's roof and squeezed his shoulders into the back of the car.

"Take off your shirt, son," John instructed and Sam, after a moment's hesitation and glance around the quiet parking lot, complied.

Dean helped him unravel the bandages and all three Winchesters gasped at the sight revealed.

The stitches still remained in the skin of Sam's chest but the claw marks themselves were very nearly healed, a little pink and swollen but far from the open wounds they'd been only one night before.

Cautiously, Dean took the gauze padding off his brother's shoulder and revealed the bite mark. Sam turned his head and examined the healing injury- like the cuts on his chest, it was raised and pink- and gingery raised his right hand to touch it.

The inflamed skin felt slightly warmer than the area around it. Sam drew his fingers back as if he had burned himself and peered at his shocked-looking father and brother.

John pursed his lips and Dean silently handed Sam back his t-shirt.

Sam didn't really know what to think. A part of him had hoped that they had been mistaken, that they had thought they'd seen a bite mark in their worry but in reality, he knew he would never be that lucky.

"It'll be alright, Sam," Dean reassured his brother.

It's never going to be alright, Dean; Sam thought mutinously, I'm a monster.

Dean returned to his seat and John closed the door, lowering himself into the driver's seat. He passed the take-out bag to his oldest but none of them were in the mood to eat anymore.


	3. Chapter Three

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Sam almost smiled when the Impala drove through the chain-link gates of Singer Salvage. It had been a long time since he'd seen Bobby and he missed the veteran hunter.

It was an hour or so after noon and the sun, still high in the sky, shone dully on the rusted junkers in the yard as John drove toward the house.

Dean let out a whoop, "Finally! Need to stretch my legs a bit."

Sam peered out the window at the familiar homestead ahead of them.

"You okay back there, Midget?" Dean joked, trying to keep them all lighthearted.

The Impala's door creaked as John stepped out, stretching his back and running a hand over his black-stubbled chin.

Dean exited the car next and moved to the passenger's door, peering at his younger brother through the glass.

Sam was suddenly afraid. Afraid of what Bobby would think of him now that he was a monster.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean said, his voice slightly muffled from the glass separating them, "Let's go inside. I'm sure Bobby's got a huge pot of chili just waiting for us."

Sam opened the car door and stepped outside. Dean reached out to grab his arm but Sam brushed him off.

All three Winchester's turned to the homestead when they heard the swish-bang of the screen door opening and closing, the thud of the old hunter's boots on the wooden porch.

Robert Singer peered down at the three men in his yard, sawed-off shotgun held in his lax hands and a smile on his face.

John moved first, gravel crunched under his boots as he made his way across the yard and clasped hands with his old friend.

Sam was surprised Bobby had even let his father get as far as the porch. The last time the two hunters had seen each other, it seemed more likely that Bobby would blow a hole in John's midsection rather than give him a hug.

The youngest Winchester felt his brother nudge him forward, "C'mon Sammy."

Sam walked forward on numb legs. He sensed Dean right behind him but didn't feel the least bit comforted.

"Boys, don't dawdle around in the yard," John called to his sons, "And while you're at it, you might as well grab the duffels."

"Yes sir," Dean's voice answered directly over Sam's head.

Sam remained where he was as his brother opened the Impala's trunk and took the three green canvas duffle bags out. Sam held his hand out for his own bag but Dean danced out of arm's reach.

"I can handle this, Sammy," Dean told him in a mothering sort of way.

"I'm not a baby, Dean," Sam snapped, "I can carry my own duffle bag."

Dean's expression softened, "I know you ain't, Sammy. Just let me do this, okay?"

"Fine," Sam mumbled and turned away from his brother.

Sam managed a smile for Bobby as he climbed the porch steps. The ruddy-bearded hunter surprised the boy by pulling him into a strong bear-hug.

"We'll get ya fixed up good as new in no time," Bobby promised, "Just ya wait an' see."

"Okay, Bobby," Sam answered, wondering how the hunter had even gotten up the nerve to touch him.

Dean's impatient footsteps had Bobby releasing Sam to take in all three Winchesters.

"Well, c'mon inside," Bobby said in a falsely exasperated tone, "Yer food's getting' cold."

W

Instead of chili- as Dean had predicted- Bobby ladled out steaming helpings of his 'famous' Singer Mac and Cheese.

Sam stared down his bowl, the normally delicious dish suddenly unappetizing.

"You should really eat something, son," Bobby advised from the other side of the table, beside John.

"Not really hungry," Sam mumbled and stirred the macaroni around with his spoon.

"You barely ate any lunch, Sam," John spoke up, concern about his youngest son evident on his face.

Sam spooned up a mouthful of macaroni and cheese and took a tentative bite.

"There ya go, Midget," Dean said in a playful tone, nudging his younger brother, "Gotta keep your strength up."

Sam took another mouthful, if only to satisfy his brother and father. The casserole- a dish that a younger Sam Winchester would ask for every time he and Dean stayed at Bobby's- was utterly tasteless.

Sam fought the urge to spit the food out and swallowed.

"I'm finished," He said and pushed his bowl away.

"Sam-" John began but a look from Bobby silenced him.

The boy exited the kitchen, ignoring the scrape of a chair across the linoleum and the thud of his brother's boots on the hardwood.

Sam trudged slowly up the stairs and down the hallway to the guest bedroom he and Dean shared whenever they stayed at Bobby's. He closed the creaky wooden door behind him and lay down on the bed on the far side of the room without taking off his shoes.

Sam stared up at the white stucco ceiling, thinking.

He couldn't figure out why his father and brother cared about this so much. He was a monster, a werewolf- one of the creatures they were sworn to kill- and yet they refused to do to Sam what they'd done to countless others.

Why were they so optimistic about finding a cure? As far as anyone knew, there was no cure for someone turned to a werewolf other than to put them out of their misery.

It was all well and good for Dad and Dean to say that they would fix Sam, while the sun shone overhead and they were in the company of friends but in a month's time, when the full moon rose bright and bloated in the night sky and Sam caved to the power of the curse, would they still be as confident? Would they be as optimistic as they were now as they fired a silver bullet into his chest?

SPN

John shook his head helplessly as Dean slammed out the front door, the screen door giving a loud crack as he stomped into the salvage yard.

"How much do you know about werewolves?" John asked his old friend and Bobby rubbed his ruddy beard for a moment, thinking, before answering.

"I know how to kill them and what repels them," Bobby said slowly, "but there's not much information on how to change them back to human. As far as hunters are concerned, the only way to cure a werewolf is with a silver bullet."

John nodded sadly, he knew what other hunters thought about monsters that had once been human; hell, he had thought the same damn until a couple of nights ago! They could not be reformed, their humanity- however much of it still lingered within them- was lost forever and the best thing a good hunter could do was put them down.

"But I've got friends who aren't hunters," Bobby informed the grief-stricken father, his lips curved wryly underneath his reddish beard.

John returned his friend's smile and nodded, "I knew you'd have something up your sleeve."

"Did you doubt me for a second?" Bobby asked sarcastically, looking insulted.

SPN

Professor Abigail Noonan lifted a brow curiously when she heard the unmistakable Yankee accent of Bobby Singer.

"And what do I owe this pleasure?" She asked in a brittle tone. Abigail hated hunters. In her opinion, they were no better than poachers. She allowed that creatures like demons and vampires were dangerous but some hunters also got off on killing the non-violent beings, like the protective Chinese shishi or the banshees in Ireland that warned people of impending death. Bobby Singer was the only hunter she tolerated.

"I need to know how to reverse the werewolf curse," Bobby said carefully- his voice slightly muffled from static- and Abigail was even more intrigued.

"Well, cowboy, I don't know that off the top of my head-" Abigail began, holding the phone between her shoulder and chin while she began to tie her dark red hair back in a bun.

"Damn," Bobby swore, sounding slightly defeated.

"What is this about?" Abigail asked, her curiosity piqued even more.

"A friend of mine, a fellow hunter, well, his son had a bad run-in with a werewolf and was bitten," Bobby explained.

"Oh my God," Abigail gasped, her hands falling away from her head, her hair falling to her shoulders, "Is the lad alright?"

"Other than being a werewolf he's just peachy," Bobby grumbled and Abigail frowned.

"How old is the lad?" Abigail asked, her eyes darting to a family photo that showed her sitting on a picnic table with her husband, David, their daughter, Lacey and son, Harry.

"Just turned fourteen in May," Bobby informed her and Abigail's heart went out to the child's father, hunter or not.

"I'll see what I can find," Abigail whispered, "I can't promise anything but I'll do my best."

"Thanks Abby," Bobby's voice had a small smile in it, "You are the best."

The American hunter hung up first and Abigail found herself staring at her phone for a long time before she finally put it back in its cradle.

SPN

"So who is this friend of yours?" John asked Bobby as the older hunter prepared to dial the number.

"She's an old friend," Bobby explained, "I was over in London, hunting a boggart and Abby was, uh, trying to study the beast."

John raised both eyebrows at the grimace that formed on his friend's face when he mentioned this Abby.

"Long story short, Abby teaches Crypto-zoology and Medieval mythology at Oxford," Bobby shrugged, "I sometimes call her up to do research for me 'cause she's got even more books than I do and access to the school's library, of course."

"Huh," John commented and rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin, "Do you think she'll be able to help us?"

Bobby fought to keep the desperation from his voice, "I hope so. Way I see it, werewolves originally came from Europe and its likely some crazy old scholar or Pope or alchemist from the Middle Ages tried to find a cure for the curse."

John nodded. Many of the tricks hunters used to capture and kill monsters were centuries old. Some of the exorcism rituals for demons had probably even been used by Charlemagne himself.

"She won't go telling anyone about this? No hunter can catch wind of what's happened," John said suspiciously, his lack of trust flaring up even for a woman separated from Sam by the Atlantic Ocean.

Bobby chuckled, "Not in a million years. Abby doesn't like hunters too much. She won't turn tattle-tale on us."

John felt a small measure of relief wash through him as Bobby dialed the long-distance number. While Bobby's English friend researched the collection in Oxford, John and Dean could pour through the books right here in Singer's own library and working together though miles away, they would find a way to cure Sammy.

Don't worry son, John thought; I'll find a way to fix this, just you wait and see.


	4. Chapter Four

Sam heard Bobby coming up the stairs. The hunter was trying to be quiet but the boy still heard the softened stomping of his boots.

Bobby tapped lightly on the door before opening it. Sam had rolled over onto his side so that he wouldn't have to look at the man's face.

"You awake?" Bobby asked as he stepped into the room, "I brought you a sandwich; peanut butter and banana, your favourite."

"Thanks but I'm not hungry," Sam mumbled, staring at the wall.

He felt the bed dip as Bobby sat down beside him, "You should really eat something, son."

Sam heaved a sigh and felt tears of sadness and anger prick his eyes, "What's the point?"

He heard a rasping sound as Bobby rubbed a hand through his ruddy beard, "I know things seem hopeless right now but believe you me, your Daddy and brother are going to find a cure for this even if it kills them. I called a good friend of mine, a professor, and she's helping us search out a way to fix this as well. You have people on your side, Sam. We're not going to abandon you. We all have faith that we'll find a way to cure you… so why don't you?"

Sam shrugged and sucked in a shaky breath, "I'm a monster, Bobby. A werewolf. I could hurt someone; kill someone and then where would I be? Would Dad and Dean still defend me? Huh? No, they'd put me down like any other monster. Why are they even trying to find a cure? There isn't one! I know there isn't! Why didn't Dad just shoot me when he had the chance?"

Bobby glowered at the fourteen-year old, "You're not too old that I can't put you over my knee, Sam Winchester!"

The teen looked over his shoulder at the hunter, fearing that the older man might actually follow through with his threat.

"I don't ever want to hear you talking like that again, you hear me?" Bobby growled and Sam nodded frantically. He sat up on the bed and grabbed his pillow, hugging it as he stared wide-eyed at the hunter.

Bobby continued to speak, his voice holding less anger now as he saw how pale the younger man had become, "You're not a monster and you never will be."

"Your brother and Daddy won't let anything happen to you," Bobby said, "They'll take care of you until we find a cure."

Sam nodded and sniffed a couple of times, "You don't hate me?"

Bobby was taken aback, "Why on earth would I hate you?"

Sam lowered his head, his long dark bangs obscuring his eyes, "Because I'm a mon- I mean a werewolf."

Bobby felt the hot sting of tears in his own eyes, "Oh Sam, I don't hate you. Neither does Dean or your father. What happened to you changes nothing. You're still Sam. Is that why you came up here, you thought we didn't love you anymore?"

Sheepishly, Sam nodded and gasped a little as Bobby bundled him into a tight hug.

"We're going to get through this, son. Don't you worry about it," Bobby rumbled as Sam returned the embrace.

Releasing his hold on Bobby, Sam chuckled a little and wiped his sleeve over his eyes, embarrassed.

"Thanks Bobby, I kind of needed that," Sam whispered to the grizzled hunter and Bobby smiled proudly through his ruddy beard.

"Know what else you need?" The older man asked.

Sam shook his head, "No, what?"

"You need to eat this here sandwich before your brother finds it," Bobby rumbled and Sam burst out laughing at the image of Dean sneaking into their room and stuffing the sandwich into his mouth like a chipmunk that had popped into his head.

SPN

Dean thudded down the porch steps and into the salvage yard. Hands clenched in fists he stared at the junkers around him.

This was all my fault, Dean thought angrily, if I had been paying more attention to Sam then he never would have been bitten. Sam must hate me. I should have protected him, that was my only job and I failed.

Dean sat down heavily on the gravel, cross-legged and feeling guilty about his brother.

A scrabbling noise coming from one of the dilapidated cars made Dean jump but he smiled when Winston Churchill- Bobby's 'guard' dog- poked his wet nose out from underneath the vehicle and sniffed excitedly. A five-year old Sam had given the mongrel the name Winston Churchill after seeing it in one of the history magazines Bobby subscribed to. Dean had tried to convince his younger brother to change the name to something conventional like Rover or Fido or Rex but Sam had refused and the dog wouldn't listen to any other moniker Dean could think of.

The mutt sauntered right up to Dean, tail wagging and looking for affection.

"Hey boy," Dean scratched Winston's ears and the dog sighed with pleasure.

The screen door slapped open and Sam came running down the stairs toward his brother, half of a sandwich clutched in his hand.

Dean stood and brushed off the seat of his pants, "You okay, Sammy?"

His brother nodded and took a bite of his sandwich.

"Winston will probably be your new best friend if you give him some of that," Dean smiled and pointed at the spot where the dog had been standing only minutes before.

"Where'd he go?" Dean wondered out loud, and called the dog's name.

"It's alright," Sam shrugged but Dean could see that his younger brother was hurt.

"He's probably around here somewhere," Dean continued, trying to cheer his sibling up, "Might have caught the scent of a cat or something."

"Yeah," Sam mumbled, "A cat."

Dean frowned. He wondered if the dog could actually tell that Sam was different now. He wondered if Winston could tell that there was a predator far more dangerous than himself in the area.

Dean's gaze shot to his brother's retreating back as he heard the crunch of gravel beneath Sam's sneakers.

"Sammy, wait!" Dean called but his brother ignored him, the screen door slapping shut in his wake.

"Damn it," Dean muttered and crouched down, picking up a handful of pebbles and began tossing them at the rusted-out Pontiac in front of him.

SPN

Abigail Noonan slipped her glasses off and pinched the bridge of her nose. The light from the green glass-shaded banker's lamp combined with the tiny script she was reading was giving her a throbbing headache.

Leaning back in her chair, Abigail peered around the quiet library. She was alone in the basement- where the oldest archives were kept- and the silence was starting to become creepy. Abigail had been sifting through dusty, fragile tomes for close to five hours and had found nothing that could help Bobby's friend.

"Bloody Hell," Abigail swore and stared down at the book she was currently pursuing.

Five hours of searching and all Abigail had found was how to kill werewolves; everything from silver to holy water and cloves and iron was believed to exterminate the poor creatures.

There's got to be something about a cure, Abigail thought to herself for the hundredth time.

She stood and put her hands on the small of her back, stretching as she peered around her tiny corner of the library.

Abandoning her post for a moment, Abigail walked between the aisles of shelves, lips pursed in a frown as she sought out something, anything that could help Bobby.

It was growing late and she knew should get home to her family. But Abigail's mind was on another family, a family she had never met and probably would never meet. Abigail could not stop thinking about the little boy Bobby had spoken of, a child only a year or so older than her own son, Harry.

With a heavy sigh, Abigail Noonan ran her fingers through her hair, disheveling it, and turned back to the desk she had so recently occupied.

Racking her mind, Abigail fought to recall if she had ever read anything concerning a cure for lycanthrope in any of the books surrounding her. If Oxford proved fruitless, Abigail knew her way around Eton and Cambridge. Even a trip to a public library could reveal some half-forgotten myth or legend- something that had been useful to Abigail in the past.

Squinting in the green-hued light of the banker's lamp, Professor Noonan sat back down and shuffled the books around as though hoping some new information would appear where it had been hidden before.

Opening one thick text, its cover made of beautifully crafted leather and its pages gold-leafed, Abigail settled in for a few more hours of research, praying that the cure for the unfortunate lad wouldn't come in the form of a silver bullet.


	5. Chapter Five

Weeks passed with no one coming any closer to finding a cure for the werewolf curse. It was now only a handful of days before the full moon and Sam was becoming more and more despondent and John, Dean and Bobby were becoming more and more anxious.

"I thought you said this professor friend of yours could help!" John exclaimed, exasperated, as he closed the cover of yet another useless tome of Bobby's.

The veteran hunter glared at the younger man, "I said I hoped that Abby would be able to help. Clean the wax outta yer ears!"

John glowered at Bobby, clearly not pleased with the other man's tone and was just about to snap at his friend and mentor when Dean spoke up, "There's still time; seven days is a ton of time! We'll find a cure before the full moon!"

Both men turned to the eighteen-year old, their anger simmering down and both looked guiltily at one another. Now was not the time to be picking a fight. Now was the time to work hard to find a way to cure the youngest member of their family. Speaking of…

"Dean, why don't you make some lunch and bring some up to Sam?" John asked his eldest. It was an hour past noon and although the father was not thinking of eating, he knew his boys should have something.

"Shouldn't I help you research?" Dean asked, anxious to find some way of curing his brother.

John shook his head, "You've been reading all morning; go spend some time with Sam. I'm sure he'd like the company."

"Okay," Dean said hesitantly and made his way into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and began rummaging through its contents.

SPN

John Winchester sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It had been nearly a month and all they had found was a laundry-list of ways to kill werewolves. It appeared that no one in history was all that concerned with curing the infected person and seemed partial to burning them at the stake, shooting them with silver, drowning them or cutting off their heads instead.

John was starting to lose faith that they would ever cure his boy.

What happens if we can't? Sam's going to be a ravenous monster in a matter of days! How do we cope with something like that?

Seeming to have read his friend's mind, Bobby spoke up, keeping his voice low because Dean was only in the next room, making lunch for his brother.

"John, we need to have a Plan B in case we don't find a cure before the full moon."

Bobby would have said something sooner but he knew the Winchesters were hanging onto the hope that they'd find a miracle cure before a month ran out and he was loathe to be the one to burst that fragile bubble.

John nodded, "What are you thinking? We have to be careful, no one can know about this."

Bobby's eyebrows knitted together and he swiped his baseball cap off to scratch at his head.

"If we don't find a cure before the full moon, Sammy's gonna change, there's no doubt about that. I've got a friend up in Juneau who hunts werewolves- they're practically endemic up there- and I can ask him for some things we'll need. You… ah… you and Dean may not like it but we're gonna have to keep an eye on Sam, keep 'im quiet and the like… don't want any nosy neighbours poking around just as much as we can't have any hunters find out about your boy."

John's eyes darkened. He knew that Bobby would not let any harm come to his son but he hated the words that were coming out of the fellow hunter's mouth.

Bobby knew that John may hate him for what had to be done but they had to protect Sam any way they could.

"Do it Bobby," John practically growled, "Call your friend and get whatever supplies you need."

SPN

Dean stared down at the cheese and onion sandwiches he had made. Sam was going to eat if Dean had to force-feed him.

His little brother had grown quiet over the past few weeks, too quiet for Dean's liking and merely picked at whatever food he was served.

The claw wounds on Sam's chest had healed so completely that they were practically invisible now. The only mark that remained was the bite on Sam's shoulder that stayed as a raised, pinkish scar.

Dean climbed the stairs carefully, balancing the saucers in one hand while holding the railing with the other.

He didn't know how many times he'd told his little brother that they would find a cure, it had become something of a mantra and yet, despite all the reassurances, Dean was starting to feel as if they'd never find a way to fix Sam.

Dean's expression turned determined. Even if they couldn't cure Sam there was no way they were going to shoot him! The very thought of pointing a gun loaded with silver at his little brother made Dean recoil in disgust. He could barely even believe his own father had been so ready to put Sam down like a monster the very night he'd been attacked. Although Dean would never tell his father, he resented John for even thinking he could kill Sam. He knew that they had both been panicking but the idea of his Dad shooting his brother completely floored Dean, never mind the fact that John hadn't been able to go through with it.

Dean pushed open the door to the guest bedroom and peeked inside to make sure Sam was awake.

His brother was lying on his back in bed- still wearing the sweat pants and t-shirt he used as pajamas- with his hands limp at his sides and his eyes wide open.

He looks like a corpse, Dean thought for a moment before stepping into the room and clearing his throat.

"Made you some lunch, Sammy."

"I'm not really hungry," Sam muttered without taking his gaze away from the ceiling.

Dean sighed and approached his brother. He sat down on the bed across from Sam and set the saucers down on the nightstand between the beds.

"You barely ate breakfast," Dean pressed, "You've got to be hungry."

"No thanks," Sam replied.

Dean didn't answer but picked up his own sandwich and took a large bite of it.

"Mmmmm," Dean spoke as he chewed, "This is soooo tasty. Too bad you don't want any though."

Sam didn't even turn to look at his brother. His nostrils flared and he frowned, "Is that onion?"

"Yup," Dean replied, "And Cheddar."

Sam's nose crinkled, "That's gross, Dean."

"No more gross than peanut butter and banana," Dean smirked, "Only chocolate has a right to go with peanut butter."

Sam didn't answer like Dean hoped he would, "Well, if you're not hungry for onion and cheese, what are you hungry for?"

Sam didn't make a sound. His thoughts immediately turned to the nightmares he'd been having more and more frequently. He dreamt of blood and meat and unholy appetites.

Dean knew about the nightmares, he would wake up in the middle of the night to find Sam crawling into bed with him- something his brother had not done since he was a toddler- and he'd murmur sleepily to his little brother that everything was going to be okay. Dean imagined Sam was reliving the werewolf attack and so never asked his brother about the dreams.

Dean finished his own sandwich and tried once again to get his brother to eat.

"Do I have to tell Dad you're skipping lunch?" Dean didn't like being a snitch but Sam not eating was no joke. Dean hoped that his brother's pride would kick in and he'd eat the sandwich so he wouldn't have to be browbeaten by their father.

"You can if you want," Sam answered noncommittally and rolled over onto his side so that his back was to his brother.

Anger flared up inside Dean and he grabbed his brother's shoulder, forcibly turning him.

"Damn it Sam! Why are you doing this? Huh? What are you hoping to achieve? Are you trying to make yourself sick? 'Cause that's what's going to happen if you don't eat!"

Sam's eyes filled with tears, "I can't eat, Dean… not that."

Dean sat back, slightly stunned by his brother's reaction; he'd expected his moody teenage sibling to snap at him.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, "What's wrong?"

Sam sniffed and sat up, "I don't know… I don't know why… but food… ever since I was bitten… it just tastes… like… like ashes… it doesn't taste right anymore…"

Dean opened his mouth, "Why didn't you say something? Why did you keep eating if it tasted like shit?"

Sam shook his head, "I didn't want to scare you and Dad."

Dean raised an eyebrow, "It would take a lot more than that to scare us, Sammy."

Sam lowered his head, sadly.

"So, uh, what do you want to eat?" Dean asked, wondering if he really wanted to know the answer.

Sam didn't answer for a long time and Dean wasn't sure if his brother was going to reply before he muttered, "Meat."

Dean sucked in a breath and ran a hand through his hair, "Okay, I'll fry you up some bacon, how does that sound?"

"Sure," Sam replied softly and Dean stood, gathering up the saucers and uneaten sandwich, and left the room, feeling more than a little uneasy.


	6. Chapter Six

Dean heard his father and Bobby get up from their spots in the living room, curious no doubt as to why he was cooking up a package of bacon in the middle of the day.

"Everything alright, son?" Bobby's voice asked from the doorway.

Without turning around, Dean shrugged, "Sam's been bitten by a werewolf. How can things get worse?"

"Dean," John said in a warning tone and his son turned to face the older hunters.

"Sam can't eat… can't stomach normal food," Dean's lip trembled a little bit, "Said it tastes like… ashes…"

Both men raised their eyebrows.

"How long has this been going on?" Bobby asked.

Dean looked at his father, "Said it started after he was bitten… remember Bobby's Mac n'Cheese? Kid wouldn't eat it."

John wiped a hand over his face, "Jesus, Bobby. What does that mean?"

The older hunter shrugged, "Dunno. Never thought to look into it. All I've ever been concerned about was killing werewolves before they decided to chew on some poor sap."

John frowned, "Surely there are other people… other werewolves who experience the same thing?"

Bobby shrugged, "Maybe the venom affects everyone differently."

John nodded. Bobby knew just about as much as he did when it came to werewolves. This was new territory for all of them and they would all need to learn the rules.

The smell of sizzling bacon soon filled the small kitchen and Dean peered at the crispy strips- Sam always insisted his bacon be cooked until it was nearly black- and slid a half dozen of them onto a plate.

With Bobby and his Dad following, Dean mounted the stairs again, hoping that his brother would eat this time.

Knocking on the door quietly, Dean peered inside and saw Sam was still lying on the bed where he'd left him.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said softly, "I brought you some bacon."

The three older men watched as the boy's nose twitched as though he was scenting the air and he sat up, looking curious.

Dean sat on the opposite bed and handed the plate to his brother. Sam took the offered dish eagerly and picked up a strip of bacon, sniffing it- apparently not even aware of what he was doing- and took a large bite.

"Sam," Bobby spoke up, "Son, Dean told us about the food… is there anything else that's… different."

Sam's gaze turned to the plate in his lap as he chewed, ashamed and didn't look up until he'd finished the first piece of bacon.

"I think my sense of smell is better," Sam mumbled.

"Okay," John's shoulders slumped a little in relief, "Is that it?"

"And… my eyesight…" Sam whispered, picking up a second strip of bacon and fiddling with it.

"S'not so bad," Bobby said, nodding.

John had to agree. All of these things could be taken care of, hidden from prying hunter eyes.

"Why don't you finish your lunch and then go outside with your brother for some target practice?" John suggested casually, knowing that his boys would do as he said even if it wasn't an order.

"Yes sir," Dean and Sam agreed in unison.

The two older hunters left the brothers in peace and went back to the pile of as-yet-unhelpful tomes sitting in the living room.

Bobby sighed as he sat down at his desk, "I'll call my friend once the boys go out… don't want 'em overhearing, you know?"

John nodded and stared down at the open book on the desk- it showed a woodcut of a werewolf biting a woman nearly clean in half- and shut the text in disgust.

SPN

"Wow Sammy, you weren't kidding when you said you have super vision now!" Dean exclaimed as his brother hit every target at twenty, forty, sixty and eighty feet away.

Sam gave a shy smile at his brother's praise. Maybe something good could come of this curse after all. He would certainly be a more effective hunter.

"I wonder how far you can see," Dean thought out loud and proceeded to move the target from eighty to a hundred feet away.

Stepping out of the way, Dean watched in amazement as Sam hit a bull's eye on the first shot.

Jogging back to his younger brother, Dean suddenly had an idea.

"Let's see if your sense of smell is as good as you think it is," he suggested.

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked, putting the safety on his gun and dropping it into the duffel bag they'd brought outside with them.

"Play Hide N' Seek, of course," Dean wiggled his eyebrows mischievously.

Sam looked at his older brother incredulously.

"Look, you count to a thousand and I'll go hide and we'll see if you can find me using your sense of smell," Dean said confidently.

Sam shrugged, "Okay."

Dean leaped up and was already starting away from his brother, "And no cheating!"

Sam couldn't help but chuckle and hid his face against the nearest tree to begin counting.

SPN

Bobby peered out of the back door as he held the phone receiver to his ear. John's boys had been out in the small wooded area just off his property for about a half hour.

"Hey Marty," the veteran hunter greeted his Alaskan friend, "It's Bobby Singer."

"Singer! Haven't heard from you in ages! What's up?" Martin Coslaw asked, his voice faint and fuzzy from the long distance call.

"Well, Marty I'm calling in a favour," Bobby said, keeping an eye out for Sam and Dean.

"What can I do ya for?" The hunter asked and chuckled.

"I need you to send me down some equipment," Bobby said vaguely, knowing that Coslaw would know what he meant.

"What? Can't you get your own? Why do you need mine?" Marty asked in a playful tone.

"Werewolves aren't as much trouble this far south," Bobby grumbled, "And besides, you're the best hunter in Alaska."

"You flatter me. Okay," Marty sighed, "But I better see my stuff again. Don't conveniently forget you borrowed it from me or I'll have to start charging interest."

"Yeah, yeah," Bobby grumped, "I got it."

"So, what do you need?" Marty listened as Bobby told him what he required.

SPN

John ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. He lifted the bottle of beer to his mouth and took a healthy swig. He was standing in the middle of the careworn kitchen, unsure of exactly what to do with himself right then.

He tried not to listen into Bobby's conversation. He knew that the older hunter meant well and that he loved Sam and Dean like they were his own sons. He knew Bobby was doing everything he could to think of any situation that might occur and trying to make things a little bit easier on them all.

John's gaze traveled to the Classic Car calendar pinned to the wall by the refrigerator and saw that Bobby had circled the day of the full moon in red marker.

John closed his eyes for a second and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He was already starting to get antsy, restless, but he knew his boys needed him. Sam needed him.

"Huh", John chuckled humorlessly, "The one time my son really needs me and I can't do a damn thing to help him."

John knew that wasn't true though. He had been searching through Bobby's books like there was no tomorrow in an effort to find something, anything that could help them cure his youngest.

The ex-Marine wanted to do more than just read a bunch of dusty old books though. He was more used to going out and physically fixing the problem- talking to people, killing monsters- but all of those skills were moot now.

John looked up when Bobby walked into the small kitchen, having just ended his long-distance call.

"Well?" the younger hunter asked and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Bobby shrugged, "Marty was more'n willing to help me out. Said he'd lend me some of his stuff."

"That's good isn't it?" John didn't like how his friend didn't seem too pleased with this bit of luck.

"Ayuh," Bobby agreed, "But you gotta remember, John, that Coslaw hunts werewolves, he doesn't have any interest in preserving them."

John glowered slightly, not liking the sound of that.

"Don't worry, John," Bobby assured the younger man, "I am going to make sure nothing hurts Sam."

John's shoulders slumped, "I know that, Bobby."

"We've just gotta be prepared in case Sam does transform," Bobby clapped a hand on his friend's broad shoulder.

"Couldn't you get me a cold one?" the grizzled hunter asked John with a wry smile.

John smiled back and opened the refrigerator, grabbing a beer and handing it over to the older man.

"We'll get through this, John," Bobby muttered, "One way or another."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of Bobby's friend- Marty Coslaw- was taken from the protagonist of Stephen King's "Cycle Of A Werewolf".


	7. Chapter Seven

Abigail Noonan stared at the words written in the ancient text sitting before her. She blinked her eyes and the words were still there, a little faded from the centuries but as clear as day to the professor.

Her heartbeat sped up in anticipation and her fingers itched to take hold of her cell phone and dial Bobby Singer's number.

This was it- the cure they had been looking for!

"Thank you, Ovid," Abigail said out loud gratefully and glanced at her watch, frowning- it would be the middle of the night in South Dakota- and mussed her hair in frustration.

"Bloody Hell," she mumbled and fished her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans.

SPN

Bobby Singer rolled out of bed, the urgent ringing of the telephone demanding attention.

"Who's calling at this hour?" the hunter grumbled sleepily as he stumbled out of his room and down the hallway.

He paused when Dean's head poked out from the doorway of the guest bedroom, "Go back to bed, son. It's nothing you gotta worry about."

Dean grumbled a reply and retreated back into the room, closing the door behind him.

Stomping down the stairs, Bobby was met with the looming figure of John Winchester who had previously been sleeping on the couch in the living room.

"S'probably some idiot rookie who thinks that a stake to the heart'll kill a vamp," Bobby grumped to the younger hunter.

John didn't comment but followed his friend into the kitchen and sat down at the dinner table when Bobby turned on the overhead light and grabbed the phone from the cradle on the wall.

"What the hell you callin' me in the middle of the night for?" Bobby greeted whoever was unfortunate enough to disturb his rest.

"I know it's late," Abigail's accented voice apologized, sounding fuzzy from the tenuous connection- and perhaps some lack of sleep on her part- but oh so welcome at the same time.

"Abby," Bobby glanced at his fellow hunter, seeing hope bloom in John's features when he heard the name spoken out loud.

"I think I've found it Bobby," Abby continued, "A cure. The cure."

"You sure?" The veteran hunter asked, not wanting to get his hopes up just yet. John's chair squeaked against the linoleum as he moved to stand beside his friend.

"It's here," Abby sighed, "Found it in a rare edition of Ovid's Metamorphoses."

"Well, spill girl," Bobby couldn't help but smile.

Before Abby could speak though, Bobby's attention was distracted by the sound of feet pounding on the staircase.

Dean practically ran into the kitchen, stopping only when he collided with the table. Sam followed behind his brother at a more subdued pace, a sheepish look on his young face.

"Boys," John said heavily, "Go back to bed."

"No way!" Dean argued, "This is about Sam, isn't it? I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on and I'm not waiting 'til morning to find out if we can fix this."

John looked like he wanted to order his children back upstairs but then he just sighed and ran a hand through his disheveled black hair, "Alright, stay down here if you like but be quiet."

The brothers nodded and Dean sat down on the table. Sam pulled out one of the chairs, not even bothering to turn it around so that he rested his arms on the top of the backrest.

"The whole family's here," Bobby told his British friend.

"The more the merrier," Abigail answered, "Alright, there's a potion that's meant to stop the transformations and it must be drunk before the victim's first full moon."

Bobby let out a deep breath; there were only four days until that happened. It was genuine luck that Abby had found the potion when she had.

"Alright, I'll tell you the ingredients first: holy water, silver shavings, the leaves and flowers of the hellebore plant, and werewolf venom," Abby spoke slowly as though she was translating the list as she read it.

"That's it?" Bobby asked incredulously. Nothing could be that easy.

"That's it," Abigail confirmed and Bobby looked at his friend to see a wide smile plastered across his face.

"The hardest thing to get our hands on will be the werewolf venom but-" Bobby began but Abigail interrupted.

"Hold on, Bobby," the professor said, "there's something written in the margin… you don't just need any regular werewolf's venom, it has to come from the werewolf that bit the victim."

Bobby's heart sank at the words, "Are you sure, Abby?"

"Yeah," the woman's tone belied the fact that she knew she had just given bad news.

"Balls!" Bobby cursed and raked his fingers through his thinning, reddish hair.

"What is it, Bobby?" John's voice questioned over Abby as she tried to speak again.

"I'll keep looking," the professor promised, "there's still time. Don't give up just yet."

"We won't… and thanks for doing this Abby," Bobby told her.

"I just wish I had good news," the British woman apologized.

"You will," Bobby assured her and hung up the phone.

Three pairs of eyes stared at the grizzled hunter, willing him to speak.

"Did your friend find something?" John asked first.

"She did," Bobby didn't elaborate and sighed.

"And?" Dean stood up and approached the older man, "We can cure Sam, can't we?"

"Abby found a potion; all it needs to work is some flowers, holy water, silver and werewolf venom," Bobby said slowly, reluctant to see the disappointed looks on the Winchesters' faces.

"Werewolf venom?" John asked, "Why?"

Bobby shrugged, "Maybe it cancels out the venom already in the person's system."

"Then what's wrong? We can get all that crap can't we?" Dean asked, his tone practically begging Bobby to say yes.

"The venom needed for the potion has to come from the werewolf that bit Sam," Bobby told the small family sadly.

If John had done his job right, the werewolf from Devils Lake would be nothing but a pile of ash and charred bones by now.

"No," John growled, "No, no, this can't be happening. We're so close. There has to be another way."

Bobby shrugged, "Abby's looking into it, John."

The younger man shook his head, "Don't give me that, Bobby! Don't you tell me that."

Bobby looked helplessly at his friend. John knew this was a chance they had to take. He couldn't help that the younger hunter had put so much faith in the slim chance that someone had tried to find a cure for lycanthrope instead of just eradicating the monsters.

"This ain't the end of the world, John," Bobby growled, suddenly angry at the father of two, "Sam's not dead! He's alive and if we do things right he'll stay that way!"

John turned on the older man, "Don't you dare tell me that this isn't the end of the world! What are we supposed to do if there's no cure? Huh? You tell me! You tell me!"

Bobby's gaze slipped to the two boys who were watching them in stunned silence. He had almost forgotten they were in the room.

"It's late and we're all tired," Bobby tried to be the mature one and calm his friend, "Why don't we sleep on things."

John looked like he was about to clock Bobby but then he grumbled something unintelligible and shuffled into the living room.

"Go on upstairs, boys," Bobby told the brothers quietly.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean whispered to his younger brother and slipped an arm around his shoulders as the two left the room, heading for the guest bedroom upstairs.

Bobby made his way to the liquor cabinet and pulled down a bottle of Jack Daniels, pouring himself a shot and stood, staring at the amber liquid for a moment without taking a drink.

He knew that John was stressed. Who wouldn't be? But Bobby wondered if John was really up to the task of taking care of a boy- a child really- who would change into a monster every month.

The hunting lifestyle was hard on all the Winchesters and Bobby didn't want to imagine what it would be like if they threw a case of lycanthrope into the mix.

Bobby wished he knew what to do. He wished he had all the answers. He wished he knew what to say to make this a little more bearable.

Bobby knew that John had a habit of making everything about himself and the older hunter hoped that his friend would remember that this was about Sam.

The grizzled hunter shook his head and threw back the shot of Jack. Setting the glass in the sink, Bobby turned out the kitchen light and headed for the stairs.

The living room was unnaturally quiet- if John was sleeping he's have been sawing logs- and Bobby imagined he could feel the younger hunter's eyes following him as he climbed the stairs.

Bobby dared to believe things would be better in the morning. Or if not better, at least a little less hostile. Hopefully John would have simmered down and taken time to think things through. Bobby knew he wasn't going to get anymore sleep as it was, his thoughts already on his friend and the fate of his youngest son.

Why'd you have to take a boy on a man's hunt? Bobby wondered as he reached the landing and turned down the hallway towards his own bedroom.


	8. Chapter Eight

Sam stared at the heaping plate of bacon and scrambled eggs Bobby sat in front of him but didn't feel like eating at all.

Dean nudged his younger sibling with his shoulder, "C'mon Midget, eat up. Breakfast's the most important meal of the day."

Sam sighed and picked up his fork. He poked at the eggs without eating them.

John sipped at his cup of coffee when Bobby poured him one. He shook his head though when the older hunter offered him scrambled eggs from the pan.

"John," Bobby said pointedly and pushed some of the yellow mush onto the fellow hunter's plate. John needed to set a good example for his boys and he wouldn't do that by not eating.

The eldest Winchester rolled his eyes, "If I wanted someone to fuss over me, Bobby, I would have re-married."

Dean raised his eyes at his father's comment, his mouth full of eggs and toast.

"That's gross," Sam muttered at the sight of his brother's half-chewed food.

Dean smiled and stuck out his tongue.

"Yeah, that's really gonna build my appetite," Sam said sarcastically.

"Boys!" John rapped out.

Bobby turned his eyes skyward as he sat down across from John.

"Sam, eat your breakfast. Dean, keep your mouth closed," the eldest Winchester growled.

Dean grinned cheekily and dug into the eggs and toast on his plate with gusto. John seemed to be eating his scrambled eggs without really tasting them, washing them down with mouthfuls of coffee.

Sam stirred his eggs around the plate before setting down his fork and picking up a strip of bacon instead.

W

Sam smiled wanly as Dean tried in vain to call Winston Churchill. He sat on the bottom step of the porch while Dean crouched in the gravel driveway, a handful of bacon clutched in his outstretched hand.

"C'mon you dumb dog," Dean raised his voice cheerily and waved the bacon in what he hoped was a tempting way.

"He's not going to show," Sam insisted and scuffed at the gravel with his sneaker.

Dean stood and ran a hand through his short hair.

"I don't understand it," Dean muttered, "Churchill loves bacon. Maybe-"

"Dean," Sam interrupted, "Give it up. He's not gonna come near me for all the bacon in the world."

The older boy grimaced, knowing his brother's words were true but unwilling to accept them.

"What do you want to do then?" Dean asked, trying to keep Sam occupied, keep his mind off the quickly approaching full moon.

Sam pushed himself off the porch steps and stood.

"Can I just be alone for a little bit? I just wanna think," Sam asked, peering up at his older brother with his patented 'puppy eyes'.

Dean shook his head, "No way, Midget. You're not going anywhere without me."

Sam's shoulders slumped, "I won't go far! I won't even leave the property!"

"Consider me your second shadow, little bro!" Dean exclaimed and gave his brother his best shit-eating grin.

Sam glared at Dean for a moment before mumbling his acceptance.

"If you're not going to give the dog that bacon, don't let it go to waste," Sam told his brother and Dean handed it over.

SPN

John turned away from the window when his sons disappeared behind one of Bobby's dilapidated cars.

He sighed and ran a hand through his black hair. He had never felt as useless as he did right now. No, that wasn't quite right, the first time he'd felt as helpless as he did now was when his wife died right before his eyes and he'd been unable to do anything to save her.

John Winchester liked to believe he was in control and when he lost that, it shook him badly.

If that professor friend of Bobby's couldn't find a cure for Sam, John didn't know what they were going to do. There was no way his youngest would be able to tour the country, hunting the things that went bump in the night when he transformed into a werewolf every month. Although John had been unable to shoot his boy, that didn't mean other hunters would have such qualms. John Winchester's son or not, Sam had been bitten by a monster and was a threat to the safety of the civilian population.

John shook his head. Sam wasn't going to hurt anyone. They would take precautions; they knew what was coming and they would be ready for it. Just like everything else in his life, John told himself that he could keep this under control. His military background gave him precious experience in forming contingency plans in times of dire situations and he would use that to his advantage. There were a few hunters he could trust with the truth about Sam. Bobby Singer, of course, but also Pastor Jim Murphy and Caleb Blacker who were close to both of his boys and would do anything for them.

"I can see you've got yer thinking cap on," Bobby's voice startled the younger man from his reverie.

Turning to his friend, John shrugged, "I'm just trying to figure things out."

Bobby nodded, "Well, don't do anything drastic just yet. Abby's trying her damndest to find a cure."

John nodded and took the cup of coffee Bobby offered him.

"Sam seems to be taking all this pretty well," the grizzled hunter commented lightly.

John grunted in response, "He's the one who should be panicking right now."

Bobby chuckled, "He's a strong kid, you should know… And he's got his brother."

John took a sip of coffee, "I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have Dean. Since Devils Lake, he's been nothing but good to Sam, not that he usually isn't but… you know…"

"Yeah," Bobby grunted, "Well, we have you to thank for that."

John glanced up at his friend, unsure if he'd just been insulted somehow.

"Dean loves that boy," Bobby continued, "We both know he'd walk to the ends of the Earth for him."

John agreed silently; he'd seen siblings who'd tear out each other's throats as look at one another. He was proud that he had at least done one thing right by his sons.

Looking down into his coffee mug, John reminded himself that Sam and Dean were strong and if they could make it over this hurdle, and come out all the better for it, then so could he.


	9. Chapter Nine

Sam was shaken rudely into consciousness by his older brother. Peeling his eyes open, Sam glared tiredly at Dean.

"What?" Sam ground out and curled up tight.

"You've been sleeping for hours, Sammy," Dean told him, "Dad wanted you up 'cause if you sleep for any long you'll be up all night."

Sam rolled his eyes but the idea of staying awake at night was oddly tempting.

"You didn't even eat anything for lunch," Dean shook his brother's shoulder again and Sam finally sat up.

The boys had walked all around Bobby's property and even down the road for a few miles before Dean had to call it quits. Reluctantly, Sam had agreed to return back to Singer Salvage with his brother and had promptly gone up to the guest bedroom they shared, complaining that he was tired.

Sam wasn't tired exactly but something was telling him he should be asleep. Sam had briefly wondered if it was a werewolf thing, maybe because the curse took place during the light of a full moon, but he wasn't sure since no hunter really cared about that sort of stuff.

Although not tired, Sam adamantly refused to have a nap like he was in Kindergarten; he curled up on his bed and closed his eyes. A few moments to rest his eyes had instead turned into hours of deep sleep that had only been broken by his brother's annoying jostling of his shoulder.

"I'm up!" Sam snapped at Dean and shoved his hand away.

His brother took a couple of steps back, "Okay, okay."

Sam hung his head for a moment, "I'm sorry."

Dean nodded his acceptance of his brother's apology, "Bobby made grilled cheese."

Sam slowly climbed out of bed, mussing his dark hair with one hand and followed Dean downstairs. His stomach growled loudly and he heard Dean chuckle as they set foot on the main floor.

"Somebody's hungry," Dean smirked and Sam scowled at him. He felt as though he hadn't eaten in days even though he had bacon for breakfast.

Maybe it's another werewolf thing, Sam thought and wished there was some way of knowing what exactly to expect from the curse.

Dean sat down eagerly at the kitchen table, mouth watering in anticipation of lunch. Sam took a seat across from him and propped his elbows on the table, chin resting on the heel of one hand as he tried to ignore the scent of fried bread and cheese.

Bobby slipped a sandwich onto Dean's plate and the young man quickly picked up one half and was soon munching away happily.

"Wheresth Dadth?" Dean asked through a mouthful and swallowed.

"I sent him into town to get some things for Sam," Bobby explained, "Food that your brother will like."

Dean nodded and turned to look at his sibling but found that Sam was no longer sitting across from him.

"What the heck?" Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise. No way could the kid have been that quiet!

Bobby smirked and plopped a second sandwich down on Dean's plate.

W

Sam stepped outside and squinted up sun, already past its apex but still very hot. He could hear cicadas chirruping loudly in the small copse of trees behind Bobby's house.

Sam was so confused. Bobby had told him he wasn't a monster but that didn't mean that Sam wasn't scared. He was terrified. What if they couldn't find a cure? What if he was forced to transform every month? What if someone found out about him?

The boy heaved a sigh and crossed the yard, climbing into the cab of a rusted-out pickup truck that was missing its doors and curled up on the bench seat, inhaling the scent of dust and motor oil.

SPN

John Winchester grimaced as he filled his shopping cart with meat. Bacon and ham and whole chickens were piled high. The eldest Winchester made a point of picking out other food items too- frozen pizza, cans of baked beans, boxes of Kraft Dinner- so he at least didn't look quite like a crackpot. Before heading towards the check-out lines, John made a bee-line for the back of the store and grabbed a couple of six-packs- he had a feeling that he'd need them in the days to follow- and sighed sadly.

John didn't want to think about his youngest son having to eat pot roast for the rest of his life if they couldn't find a cure. He stood in line behind a young mother with a infant- one hand cradling her baby to her chest, the other gripping the handle of a plastic grocery basket- and tried to ignore the lump that formed in his throat.

He remembered when his own children were that small. Dean had been stubborn, even at that young age- waking up in the middle of the night just to cry for hours- but John remembered that time of his son's life fondly. John didn't think he'd trade those sleepless nights, his firstborn son cradled in his arms, for anything. Sam had been such a sweet baby, quiet as could be, with large green eyes and a tuft of dark brown hair that Mary had loved.

His sons weren't babies anymore. Sam and Dean were young men, hunters, but John still felt the need to protect them.

"Sir?" John startled, staring at the cashier.

"Oh, sorry," John mumbled and started putting his groceries onto the conveyer belt, his face actually burning with embarrassment underneath his beard.

The girl at the register raised an eyebrow when she saw all the protein John was buying but said nothing but the total price.

As quickly as possible, the hunter packed his groceries and exited the supermarket, anxious to get back to his sons.

John relaxed immediately once he was behind the wheel of his beloved Impala.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The description I have for Sam's transformation is somewhat graphic and may be disturbing to some. It is based on the werewolves from the movie "Van Helsing", if any have seen it, to give you an idea. I liked the style of this transformation because it kind of reminded me of the shapeshifters in the show and how they change from one form to another.

Two days before the full moon, a package arrived at Bobby's house from Alaska. The grizzled hunter carried the large, brown-paper wrapped package into the kitchen and set it down on the table.

Sam and Dean were eating breakfast and they eagerly shoved their plates away so that Bobby knew he had their full attention.

"Where's John?" The hunter asked before he even opened the box.

Dean shrugged, "Went out for a walk a half an hour ago."

Bobby nodded. Johnny was probably in the forested area behind the Salvage Yard, trying to clear his head and think things over.

"Should someone go get him?" Sam asked, sitting on his knees on his chair to get a better look at the plain brown box that would hopefully contain something that would help him.

"See how fast you can find him, Sammy," Dean suggested with a smirk.

The younger boy opened his mouth to protest- he didn't want to miss anything- but then nodded and slid off his chair.

The two older hunters listened to the teen's sneakers pound against the hardwood floor as he ran through the living room and the loud clatter as the screen door slammed shut behind him.

Dean turned his hazel eyes onto Bobby's grey ones, "Think we should open it? There might be something in it-"

Bobby shook his head, "Yer brother's not a child, Dean. You know that. He hasn't been ever since he found out about monsters."

The younger man lowered his head, "Yeah, I know."

He couldn't help but think back to that night when Sam had asked him about monsters, seemingly out of the blue, and then confessed to having read their father's journal. No, Sam certainly wasn't a little kid anymore but that didn't mean Dean didn't want to protect him any less. Whether Sam was fourteen or forty, he would always be Dean's baby brother.

Dean glanced up at the sound of muffled speaking and footfalls coming towards the house.

Sam and John were back already!

The young man glanced at his watch and saw that only five minutes and passed since his brother had practically sprinted from the room to fetch their Dad.

Sam entered the kitchen first, rolling his eyes at Dean's shocked expression.

"Dad was at the end of the driveway," he muttered and took his seat again.

John didn't come into the kitchen but stood in the doorway, arms crossed and a curious though worried look on his face.

Bobby grabbed a knife from the drawer and sliced through the tape and paper, opening the box slowly.

Sam and Dean leaned forward, trying to peer inside.

The grizzled hunter reached in and pulled out a palm-sized box. Lifting the lid, Bobby set the box down on the table and didn't look at it again.

"Silver bullets," he told the small family and turned his attention to the package again.

Dean, too excited to wait for Bobby, reached towards the brown-paper wrapped package but the veteran hunter slapped his hand away.

"What was that for?" Dean complained, glaring at Sam when his brother sniggered.

"Hands out until I know none of this stuff's dangerous," Bobby told him, "Marty's a good hunter but he's a few fries short of a Happy Meal."

Dean grabbed the back of Sam's neck and pulled him into a sitting position so he wasn't as close to the box.

Next, Bobby pulled out a silver bear-trap. Sam blanched at the sight of it and sat back in his chair.

"Sammy? You okay?" Dean asked and wrapped an arm around his younger brother's shoulders.

Sam nodded, "Yeah… Fine… It's just… wow."

Bobby held the trap out and John took it from the older man.

"We won't be needing that," the veteran hunter said and the father nodded.

Clearing his throat, Bobby peered into the box before picking out the next item. He frowned when he pulled out a handful of opalescent stones. Curious, he set them on the table.

"What are those?" Dean asked, touching one of the stones with his finger.

"Looks like moonstones," Sam said and reached out to take one of them.

"Careful-" John cautioned but his youngest was already studying the small stone in his palm. Suddenly his hissed in pain and flung the stone away; it ricocheted off the table and onto the floor, rolling beneath the oven.

"Sammy!" Dean exclaimed and grabbed his brother's hand, frowning worriedly at the burn already starting to blister on his sibling's hand.

"C'mon," the older brother murmured, "Let's get that fixed up."

He led Sam out of the room, glancing at the moonstones from over his shoulder.

John stepped further into the room and set the trap on the table. He picked up one of the stones and examined it.

"Like salt for ghosts," the father muttered, "Or holy water on demons."

"There's one more thing Marty's sent," Bobby grumbled, brining John from his thoughts.

With a clanking, grinding sound, the veteran hunter brought a chain and shackles from the box.

"Silver," he announced, unsurprised.

"Is that it?" John asked and peered into the nearly empty package, "No, there's a letter."

He grabbed the piece of paper and held it out to Bobby. The grizzled hunter took it and scanned its contents.

"How nice," he rumbled, "Marty's added instructions on how to use all this."

John looked at the array on the table curiously.

"I didn't know werewolf hunting was so involved."

Bobby shrugged, "It is when you've got a pandemic I guess. Alaska, werwolf capital of the country."

John picked up the bear trap again.

"Seems more like your friend is concerned with torturing them than simply killing them."

The older hunter scratched his head through his baseball cap and sighed, "There's a few of 'em out there who're like that."

John nodded. He didn't understand why though. It was much less messy and more efficient to eliminate the monsters. Why torture them? John didn't even think that he would have to gall to do more than exterminate the monster who had killed his Mary. He wanted it dead; end of story.

Shaking his head, he looked up at Bobby.

"What can we use to help Sam?"

SPN

Sam sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat and allowed Dean to smear ointment over the burn on his palm and then wrap gauze around his hand.

"That feel better?" Dean asked as he packed up the First-Aid Kit.

"Yeah," Sam muttered. His hand throbbed, the pain deep and fiery.

"You alright, Sammy?" Dean asked and Sam looked up to see his brother's face tight with concern.

The teen nodded, "Why?"

Dean shrugged, "Just… that stuff Bobby's friend sent…"

"I can handle it, Dean," Sam snapped, "I'n not a baby!"

Startled, Dean took a step back, "I didn't say you were, Sam. I just thought-"

"Well stop thinking!" Sam snarled and stood up, flinging open the bathroom door and storming out into the hallway.

Stomping up the stairs, Sam headed to the bedroom he shared with his brother and slammed the door shut. Flinging himself onto his bed, Sam glared at the headboard.

SPN

Dean didn't leave the bathroom right away. He took a seat on the toilet lid and rubbed his hand over his face. He'd only been trying to help his brother and Sam had bitten his head off for no reason.

He's just stressed, Dean told himself; stressed and scared.

He didn't blame Sam either, for lashing out; he would probably do the exact same thing if he had been in his brother's position.

Sighing, he left the bathroom and made his way to the kitchen where his father and Bobby were.

W

"Sammy?" Dean called and rapped his knuckles on the bedroom door, "I brought you something to eat. You hungry?"

There was no response so Dean opened the door an inch and peered into the room. Sam was lying on his stomach on his bed, fast asleep.

Dean approached his brother and shook Sam's shoulder gently. The younger man blinked owlishly, nose twitching as he caught the scent of food.

"Thought you might like something other than bacon for a change," Dean held out the bowl of cooked ground beef to his brother and Sam sat up.

"Thanks Dean," he muttered, his expression sheepish.

Dean took a seat on his bed across from Sam and watched as his brother began to gobble the meat, eating with his hands.

"Dean?" Sam spoke up from around a mouthful.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry," Sam swallowed and continued, "About earlier."

"Don't worry about it," Dean told him, waving the apology away.

Sam shook his head, stopped eating, "No, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

Dean's expression softened, "I know your scared, Sammy. That's okay; I am too."

Sam looked up at Dean and his heart almost broke. His younger brother's eyes were watery and red, "What's going to happen to me, Dean?"

"I don't know, Sammy," Dean answered his brother truthfully.

"But what I do know," he continued, his voice stern, "Is that nothing bad will happen because I won't let it."

Sam smiled gratefully at his brother and continued on with his meal.

SPN

Sam lay awake in bed, listening to his heart race in his chest. Today- or rather tonight- was the full moon. Sweat beaded on his brow and plastered his hair to his head. He didn't want to do this, he couldn't do this.

But he had no choice.

He would turn.

Sam closed his eyes and tried to calm down but it seemed impossible at this point.

Sitting up, Sam looked over at his brother sleeping in the other bed. Dean, who normally looked so relaxed when he slept, was anything but. His brow was furrowed and he was frowning.

Sam remained where he was, hands clasped between his knees, watching his brother until Dean woke up.

The older boy stretched and yawned widely before sitting up, his gaze immediately drawn to his younger sibling.

"Sammy? What's wrong?"

"The moon," Sam muttered, "It's the full moon tonight, Dean."

"Shit," he heard his brother swear and looked up when Dean stood up and crossed the short space between the beds to sit beside him.

"I'll be okay, Sammy," Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders, "Bobby and Dad and I will make sure everything's alright."

Sam nodded, his eyes burning with tears. He rubbed gently at the bandage on his hand- the burn still hurt- and sighed shakily.

"What do ya say I make you the biggest, best breakfast ever?" Dean asked, saying the exact same thing he used to do when Sam had been a little kid and upset that John hadn't come home, or was nervous about the first day at a new school or just sad.

Sam smiled a little, "I'd like that."

SPN

The Singer household was very quiet. All four occupants were anxious for night to fall.

Dean stayed close to his brother, giving him reassuring smiles and comforting touches- an arm wrapped around his shoulders or a quick squeeze of the back of his neck- while trying to ignore his own nerves.

Bobby and John were downstairs, making preparations for the evening. As they worked, they waited for a call from Abigail Noonan, praying for some miracle cure to come through.

SPN

Sam's dinner churned sourly in his stomach as he followed Dean and Bobby down to the basement, feeling like a man on his way to the gallows pole.

"I'll be with you the entire time," Dean assured him.

"You don't have to, Dean," Sam tried to argue, "I don't want you to see-"

"Dude, I gave you baths when you were little," Dean joked, "There's nothing I haven't seen before."

Sam only scowled at his brother but was grateful that Dean wasn't going to leave him.

The trio walked to the back of the basement, into a small workroom. Bobby and John had moved out all the furniture- workbench and shelving units- so Sam wouldn't accidentally hurt himself.

The two eldest hunters had attached the shackles to the back wall of the room with some heavy-duty spikes.

Sam gulped and froze in the doorway, his heart pounding furiously in his chest.

"I- I can't do this, Dean," he gasped, "I- I can't! There has to be something else! Anything! I can't!"

Dean cupped Sam's face with his hands, "Hey, it'll be alright, Sam. It will. I promise. I'm going to be with you, all night. We can get through this."

Sam shook his head, feeling tears well up in his eyes. Dean pulled him into a hug and Sam clung to his brother's arm, tears leaking down his face.

After a few moment, Dean released Sam and stepped into the room.

"C'mon Sammy," he urged.

Sam hesitated for a moment before entering the room. He was glad his Dad wasn't here to see him crying. Before letting him go downstairs, John had pulled Sam aside and given him a hug- which surprised Sam- and told him to remember that it wasn't going to stay like this forever, that he and Bobby were going to fix things.

Sam wiped his face with his sleeve and looked down at the shackles. They glinted like liquid mercury in the yellow light of the overhead bulb.

Bobby gave him a sympathetic look, "Son, you ready?"

Sam swallowed thickly and nodded.

"Alright, Sammy," Dean announced, "Strip down to your birthday suit."

Sam looked at his brother, "Why?"

He felt heat rush into his face and he was sure he was blushing.

"Sam, if you change with your clothes on you'll ruin them," Bobby explained gently.

"Oh," Sam whispered. He guessed it made sense but he didn't want to take his clothes off. This situation was bad enough without this.

"I can leave if it'll make you feel better," Bobby suggested.

Sam nodded and bit his lip, "Sorry."

The older hunter shook his head, "Dean will take care of ya."

Handing Dean the keys to the shackles, Bobby left the room, closing the door after himself.

Sam watched his brother check his watch anxiously.

"Want me to turn around?" Dean asked and Sam nodded sheepishly.

Thankful that his older brother didn't make a big deal about it, Sam waited until Dean was facing the wall before taking his clothes off until he was standing in his boxers.

"Those too Sam," Dean told him without even turning around.

"But Dean!" Sam whined, embarrassment making him blush all the more strongly.

"You heard Bobby," Dean said bluntly.

Sam sighed and slipped his boxers off, feeling very exposed. He shivered in the cold air.

Dean turned around and took a blanket from the backpack he had brought with him, draping it over Sam's shoulders.

"Thanks," Sam muttered, feeling slightly better.

Dean didn't speak as he locked the shackles around Sam's wrists and ankles. Crouching down, Sam marvelled at how heavy the silver chains were and looked up when his brother snickered.

"What?" Sam almost growled, he was not in the mood for Dean to make jokes about him right now.

"You look like the guy from that movie," Dean told him, "You know, that one where he's in jail for years and years."

"The Count of Monte Christo?" Sam answered sarcastically and Dean nodded, "Yeah, him."

Sam's shoulders drooped, "I guess."

Dean took a seat on the other side of the room, his back against the wall as he waited with his brother.

"What time is it?" Sam asked after about five minutes and Dean told him.

Sam fiddled with the shackle around one wrist. It was far too big for his arm but he guessed he'd be bigger once he changed. He hoped he would be because if he got loose he could hurt Dean. His brother had a gun loaded with horse tranquilizers should anything go wrong everyone was hoping he wouldn't have to use it.

W

Sam wiped a bead of nervous sweat away from his eye and he looked across at Dean.

Why was it taking so long? Was something wrong?

Looking around, Sam realized that the workroom had no windows and wondered if he had to actually be in the moonlight to change.

He opened his mouth to suggest as much to Dean when pain shot through his body and he nearly collapse.

"Sam!" he heard Dean shout as a second searing pain ripped through him, making him cry out.

Sam felt hands on his shoulders and snarled, "Get away!"

Dean didn't have to be asked twice; Sam watched as he backed up with a worried expression on his face.

Sam curled in on himself as his limbs began to shake and he felt as though his stomach was trying to force itself up his throat and out his mouth.

SPN

Dean watched helplessly as Sam seemed to convulse on the floor, his limbs becoming tangled in the blanket he had given his brother earlier. Suddenly Sam seemed to freeze and his arms and legs stuck out rigid. He made a choking sound deep in his throat and Dean almost ran to him. Dean stared in shock when Sam's bones began to shift- crunching and squelching- beneath his skin; the sound very loud in the small room. He felt bile rise up his throat as Sam stared to unconsciously claw at his arms, tearing his own flesh.

Dean was sure he was going to be sick. He couldn't watch this. But he couldn't look away. It was like witnessing a car accident.

Dark brown fur was visible between the rents in Sam's skin and were growing as he continued to scratch and claw. Sam let out a howl of pain and hid his face beneath one arm. The horrible girding and crunching sounds continued and Dean stumbled back into the wall when his brother lifted his head and a lupine creature- still half-human, half-wolf- stared at him with glowing green eyes. Sam was still crouching but yelped when his knees bent backwards, and he fell forward. The teen shook himself like a dog, dislodging the last of his skin- which fell to the concrete floor, curled up like burning paper and disintegrated- and threw his head back.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Dean stared wide-eyed at the monster standing before him. No, it wasn't a monster, it was Sammy, his little brother.

It was about the size of a Great Dane dog- small for a werewolf- and Dean wondered if it would get bigger when, and if, Sam had a growth spurt. The werewolf had shaggy, dark brown fur- the same colour as Sam's hair- and fiery green eyes. Its claws were were the length of the blades of steak knives and it had inch-long jagged teeth.

Sam- what had once been Sam- lowered his head and growled low in his throat, threateningly and lunged at Dean.

The older brother stumbled into the wall behind him and cried out in surprise. The werewolf snarled in frustration, its attack stopped short by the silver shackles around its legs.

"Sammy," Dean breathed. He had been trying to prepare himself for this night but now that it had come, he wasn't sure he could handle it.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean continued, his voice wavering, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Slobber dribbled down Sam's snout as his muzzle wrinkled around another snarl. Triangular ears perked up and Sam swivelled his head to the side as he stared at the door. The knob turned and Bobby's face appeared, concerned.

Sam threw himself at the door but didn't make it very far. He struggled and strained but the silver shackles continued to hold.

The grizzled hunter took in the youngest Winchester with a solemn expression before turning his grey eyes onto Dean.

"Y'all right, son?" he asked and Dean nodded woodenly.

"Uh huh," he muttered without taking his eyes off the werewolf.

"Sure?" Bobby pressed, taking in the young man's pale, sweaty face and wide eyes.

"Is Sam going to be like this every time?"

Dean had hunted enough werewolves to know that when they transformed, they became animals- ruthless killing machines- that seemed to have no humanity left inside them but he couldn't help but look at the creature before him and still think Sammy.

"They're always like this," Bobby said quietly.

Dean nodded and sniffed.

"You want yer Daddy down here instead?"

"No, I got it," Dean said, "I told Sam I'd stay with him."

Bobby nodded once and closed the door without saying another word. Dean slid down the wall until he was sitting with his legs bent, his hands resting on his knees.

"We're going to find a way to fix this," Dean promised his brother as Sam snarled and foamed at him, "I promise."

W

Dean rubbed his burning eyes tiredly and glanced at his watch. The sun should be rising soon.

Looking up, he saw that the werewolf had not relaxed- had spent the entire night attempting to get close enough to take a bite out of him- and sighed.

The creature- that had been straining to sink its teeth into him all night, suddenly froze, its fur standing on end and its tail held straight out.

Sitting up, Dean leaned forward in concern, "Sammy?"

His younger brother spasmed and let out a whine of pain. Sam's green eyes rolled back in his head and he collapse onto the floor, twitching.

"Sam!" Dean shouted but stopped himself from stepping closer. Even in obvious distress, Sam could still hurt him if he came too near.

Dean bit his lip, his hands clenched into fists as he watched the werewolf. Its paws scratched against the cement floor as if searching for purchase, its jaws snapping, yellow foam overflowing, its eyes rolling in panic.

"It's okay, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed, not knowing if his brother could even understand him but needing to comfort him anyway, "It'll be okay!"

The werewolf let out a high whimper and began clawing at itself, tearing through the fur on its legs, its sides and belly.

Dean grabbed the tranquilizer gun, afraid something was wrong and Sam was trying to kill himself before he noticed clean, pinkish skin peeking out from the tears in the dark fur.

Dean felt bile rise in his throat and he didn't think he'd ever get used to watching the transformation take place.

Bones began shrinking, twisting, shifting back into place. Organs squelched and popped unpleasantly loud and Dean's stomach heaved.

Pressing a fist to his mouth, Dean stared at the werewolf as it changed into his brother. The fur sloughed off and curled like burning parchment before it disappeared.

Sam lay curled in on his side, hands held up to his chest, breathing fast-paced and shallow. His eyes were shut tightly.

"Sammy!" Dean moved forward and landed on his knees beside his brother. Grabbing his sibling, Dean pulled Sam into a hug, feeling sweat-slick skin and the heat pouring off his brother.

"D'n?" Sam voice was raspy, exhausted sounding.

"It's alright, Sammy," Dean soothed, his fingers tangled in the damp hair at the back of Sam's head, "We got through it. You got through it."

"Dean," his brother spoke again, his voice a little more strong.

"Yeah?" Dean held his brother at arm's length, staring into Sam's wan face.

"Can I get dressed now?"

Dean bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Sam must have seen his expression, however, because he scowled at him and shoved Dean in the chest.

"S'not funny!"

Dean, chagrinned, nodded, "Sorry Sammy. Hold on a sec, I'll get your clothes."

Standing, he walked over to where he had been sitting and picked up Sam's garments, neatly folded and took the key to the shackles from his jeans' pocket as he made his way back.

Dean quickly unlocked the chains and kicked them to the side so they wouldn't be in the way. He handed Sam his clothes and busied himself with gathering up the blanket and gun while Sam dressed.

"How you feeling, Sammy?" Dean asked once Sam was clothed and standing. His brother was still pale and he swayed slightly on his feet.

"Like crap," the younger brother answered bluntly.

"Well, you sure look like it," Dean replied, trying to lighten the mood.

Sam glared at him and left the room, although he waited for Dean once he reached the staircase.

"Sam?" Dean asked when he saw his brother had his hand on the railing but he wasn't moving forward.

"This is going to happen for two more nights?" Sam asked, sounding like a little kid and Dean sighed.

"Unless we can find a cure," Dean answered quietly, "Yeah."

Sam sucked in a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

His brother didn't reply, Sam just lifted his head and climbed the stairs slowly and deliberately as though doing so was a difficult task.

SPN

John stood half-way up from his chair when he saw Sam appear at the top of the basement stairs.

"Sam," he called and hurried forward, placing his hands on his youngest's shoulders, "Are you alright?"

Sam looked up at him- his face white and damp with sweat, his eyes dull- and smiled, "Tired, Dad."

John nodded and squeezed the boy's shoulder before letting him go.

"Bobby thinks it'd be a good idea for you to eat something," he told his son, "The transformation takes a lot out of a person."

"Okay," Sam agreed quietly and John lifted his eyebrows, surprised that he hadn't put up a fight or tried to weasel his way out of breakfast.

John nodded, "Sounds good. You… ah… want bacon?"

The eldest Winchester met Dean's gaze when his older son came up the stairs behind Sam.

"Sounds great," Sam commented and slowly made his way to the kitchen.

"How was it?" John asked. Dean sighed and ran his hand through his short hair.

"He's not Sammy when he changes," Dean told him softly, "He didn't know me at all."

John nodded. He knew as much. Werewolves were driven by hunger only. A man would kill his own mother without knowing the difference, when he transformed.

"Dean," John began, feeling like he should say something as to why he hadn't been down in the basement with them, "I-"

The young man shook his head, "Don't Dad… I know what you're going to say and I don't want to hear it. We don't need you down there. Sam and I got along fine by ourselves."

Dean turned towards the kitchen and walked away from his father, leaving John feeling hurt. He hadn't gone down because he knew Sam had a stronger connection to Dean than him. Sam wouldn't have wanted him to see him like that; with Dean, he was more comfortable. John just didn't want Dean to think that he didn't care about Sam.

Running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, John followed his boys into the kitchen and sat back down, picking up his coffee cup and watched Sam practically drool over the pan of bacon Bobby was cooking.

SPN

Dean smiled down at his brother as Sam snored softly on his bed, his belly full of bacon.

The older brother yawned widely and lay back on his own bed. He felt exhausted as Sam looked. It had been one hell of a long night.

How are we going to get through two more of these? Dean wondered as he stared up at the ceiling.

Sighing sadly, Dean rubbed at his tired eyes.

How could they do this indefinitely? What if there was no cure? Would John let him stay with Sam here at Bobby's?

Dean frowned; he knew Sam wouldn't want to do this month after month. But what other choice did they have?

Dad could put a silver bullet in Sam's chest, Dean thought and sat up, twisting around to punch his pillow in anger.

Like hell he will! I won't let him touch Sammy!

Laying back down, Dean had another thought, one that was far more worse than the idea of his own father killing his brother.

What if Sam asked him to? What if Sam begged Dad to do it?

Dean glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye, the thought of Sam asking to be put out of his misery making his stomach turn to ice.

His little brother looked so peaceful now, he even had a small smile on his lips.

If we can't find a cure, Dean told himself, I'll make sure Sam never feels like he needs to ask that of Dad.

With that, the older Winchester brother closed his eyes and promptly fell into a much needed slumber.

SPN

Sam was free! He was free! He stretched his long legs, felt dirt beneath his paws and grinned widely.

The full moon cast the forest in silver, washing everything a milky white.

He lifted his head back and howled, long and mournful.

Pain blazed across his shoulder and Sam growled, eyes watering as the wound leaked blood into the fur on his leg.

Keen eyes wide, Sam saw faint movement through the trees to his right and he leaped towards them, jaws open and ready.

"SAM!" the voice cried right before he slammed into his attacker, taking both of them to the ground.

The air whooshed out of his victim and the gun fell from limp fingers. Sam's nostrils flared at the acrid, burning scent of silver and he curled his lip, showing his fangs.

"NO!" the hunter begged and Sam lowered his jaws, biting down on the man's exposed neck.

Warm, coppery blood gushed out all around Sam's muzzle, coating his nose and squirting up into his mouth. Lifting his head, Sam narrowed his eyes. He thought he had heard something farther off in the woods… but now it was gone.

Licking his chops, Sam stepped off the fallen hunter, trying to decide if he should stay and feed.

BANG!

Sam screamed as the bullet ploughed into his chest, missing his heart by inches, and he stumbled away from the body.

"Sam, what have you done?!" The voice is so familiar that he can't help but whirl around at the sound, chest heaving and lock eyes with his brother.

Dean is standing there, his own eyes wide with fear and horror, staring down at the body at Sam's paws.

The fur along Sam's spine raises up and he too, glances down and sees… John. His father. He's killed his own father!

Sam begins backing away from Dean, whimpering.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He hadn't meant to hurt anybody. John shot him first.

Sam's eyes widen even more when he sees Dean raise the gun in his hands, his face devoid of all emotion.

Laying his ears back against his skull and tucking his tail between his legs, Sam lowers his muzzle, knowing what must come next.

Sam cries out when the second bullet hits his chest and falls over, stumbling over his own paws. Landing heavily on his side, he grits his teeth in pain and silently prays that Dean's final bullet will be true.

From the corner of his eye, Sam watches his brother approach him and he doesn't move. He closes his eyes; he can't bear to look at Dean's face anymore.

Sam grunts quietly when Dean puts a boot on his shoulder and his keen hearing picks up the sound of the gun being cocked.

Just do it, Dean, Sam thinks, it's all I deserve.

Sam's breath catches when he feels his brother press the barrel of the gun against his already wounded chest; this time he will not miss.

"I'm sorry we couldn't save you," Dean whispers and pulls back the hammer-

W

Gasping, Sam sat up in bed, hands grabbing at his chest as though he expected to find gunshot wounds.

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean called from his own bed and the young man flinched.

"I- I didn't mean to!" Sam cried, "It was an a-accident!"

"Sammy, Sammy," Dean's voice said, much closer now. He had moved to his brother's bed and now grabbed Sam in a crushing hug.

Tears of grief rolled down Sam's face and he trembled helplessly.

"It was just a nightmare," Dean murmured, "That's all. Nothing bad's happened."

"I'm s-sorry, Dean," Sam whimpered, "I'm s-so sorry!"

"Hey, shhh," Dean muttered, trying to get through to his brother, "It's okay."

Sam shook his head and pulled himself away from Dean forcibly, scrambling off the bed and heading for the door.

"Sammy! Where are you going?"

Sam could hear his brother following but he didn't care. Practically leaping down the stairs, he ran into the living room where Bobby and John were sitting.

The fourteen-year old ran to his father and wrapped his arms around the older man's neck, squeezing tightly.

"Sam? What's wrong? Son?" John asked, his tone concerned as he tried to pry his teenage son away.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Sam muttered against his father's shoulder, "I never meant it to happen."

"Sam? Sam! What are you talking about?" John grabbed his son's arms and pulled them off his neck.

When his father released him, Sam wiped his teary eyes.

"I- I…" he stammered, terrified his father would be angry at him, "I had a nightmare."

John opened his mouth, appeared to think about what he was going to say, cleared his throat and continued, "What was it about?"

"You're pale as a sheet," Bobby interjected before Sam could speak, "Sit down."

Sam gratefully sank into one of the veteran hunter's wing-backed chairs.

Dean was in the living room now, sitting down beside John.

Sam took a deep breath and told the gathered men his nightmare.

Dean immediately reacted, "But that'll never happen, Sammy! We'll make sure it won't!"

Sam lowered his head, "So I'll always have to be chained up like some animal."

The silence in the room was thick.

"Not like an animal, son," Bobby spoke up, "For your own protection. And only until we find a way out of this mess."

Sam wanted to blurt out: What if there is no cure! But he bit his tongue. He nodded though, in understanding.

The quiet in the room was broken by the shrill ring of a telephone and Bobby jumped up, nearly running to grab the receiver.

"Yeah?" All three Winchesters could clearly hear him speaking in the kitchen.

"Abby, how are ya?"

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. Abigail Noonan! Bobby's British friend!

"You don't say? Really? How?" the excitement in Bobby's voice was clear and Sam couldn't help but smile when Dean winked confidently at him.

"That's amazing! I'll tell 'em right away!"

Bobby poked his head into the living room, a grin on his face.

"Abby thinks she's got something that can really help Sam."


	12. Chapter Twelve

Abigail Noonan rubbed tiredly at her eyes as she stared down at the ancient text. She glanced at her watch and sighed. It was almost noon hour in America and she knew Bobby would be awake but she was reluctant to pick up her phone and call the hunter.

She just didn't want to disappoint him- or his friend's son- again.

Sighing determinedly, Abigail re-read the text for what must have been the hundredth time, trying to find some fault in it. There appeared to be none aside from one glaring detail.

Steeling herself, Abigail picked up her phone. The first night of the full moon had only just passed and she didn't want that poor boy to suffer anymore.

Dialling Bobby's number, the professor took a deep breath before she heard the hunter's familiar voice on the other end of the line.

"Yeah?"

"It's Abby," she answered plainly, knowing Bobby would most likely want to get through the niceties as soon as possible.

"Abby, how are you?" the American hunter asked and the woman couldn't help but smile.

"Oh fine," she commented, "Listen, I've found something that may be able to help your friend's boy."

Bobby's tone grew instantly excited, his American accent becoming more pronounced, "You don't say? Really? How?"

Abby chuckled and looked down at the book sitting before her, "I have here a potion that can stop Sam's transformations."

"That's amazing! I'll tell them right away!"

Abby bit her lip as she listened to her friend tell the Winchesters the good news. She prayed that this time, she would be able to do something for the American hunters.

"Okay, Abby, what've you got?" Bobby asked, his attention on her once again.

"There's an account by a French priest named Jean LaRuc in 1609 about a werewolf terrorizing a small town near Lyon. What's interesting is that the supposed werewolf was the priest's own niece, Madeleine. Anyway, the priest was extremely heartbroken and he wrote that he prayed many times a day, for many months so that God could cure his niece."

Bobby interrupted, "And did He?"

Abby frowned, "No, but LaRuc claims that God did speak to him and gave him instructions on how to make a potion that would prevent the girl from changing."

Bobby made a incredulous sound in his throat but allowed the professor to continue.

"The potion is made of holy water, silver shavings, a saint's bone and the leaves of the wolf's bane plant."

"Huh," Bobby muttered, "An' did it work?"

Abby pinched the bridge of her nose, "I don't know. Before Jean LaRuc could give the potion to his niece she was captured by the Inquisition and executed for witchcraft."

There was a pause long enough for the professor to become concerned, "Bobby, I'm sorry-"

The hunter interrupted, "When does Sam have to drink it?"

"What?" she stammered, surprised by the question.

"When does Sam have to drink the potion?" Bobby repeated and Abby, flustered now, searched the document frantically for the answer.

"Oh," she whispered, "He would have had to drink it during the first day of the full moon and for these next two days until the cycle ends."

"Balls," Bobby cursed but he didn't sound all that upset.

"What are you thinking?" Abby asked curiously.

"I'm thinking that this might work," the hunter told her, "Why wolf's bane, though? Ain't that poison?"

"It is but LaRuc believed that it would 'kill' the wolf inside the victim without harming the person," Abby explained.

"How often would Sam have to take the potion?"

Abby glanced through the writings again, "A new batch would have to be made every month."

"Hmm," Bobby hummed and Abigail allowed herself to actually feel hopeful that this could work.

"Will you try it?" she asked.

"Damn right I will," Bobby said, "This is the first real lead we've had."

The professor smiled.

"Call me when you find out if it helps or not," she asked and Bobby promised he would.

Hanging up the phone, Abby sat back and ran her fingers through her hair, sighing in relief.

Standing, the professor took the book back to its shelf, thankful that now her friend had some good news for the Winchesters and that she had been able to help.

SPN

"What did she say, Bobby?" John asked immediately after the older hunter hung up the phone.

"Abby thinks there's a way to stop Sam from transformin', a potion he has to drink," the grizzled hunter explained, unable to keep from smiling at the hopeful expression on the faces of all three Winchesters.

"How do we make it?" Dean asked eagerly.

Bobby told the small family what ingredients were needed for the potion and Dean looked about ready to run out the door and search for everything they required.

"Hold on there, son," the grizzled hunter said and Dean froze.

John grimaced; he knew how his eldest felt but he also knew that these sort of things always came with certain rules.

"What is it, Bobby?" he asked his friend, feeling nervous, hoping this cure wouldn't end up like the last one Abigail Noonan had suggested.

"Sam's gotta drink it all three days of the full moon," he said carefully, "It won't work this time around."

John let out a sigh of relief; well, if that was the only obstacle.

"An' Abby said its not been tested so… we all just better cross our fingers it'll work alright," Bobby finished.

"Damn!" Dean exclaimed.

"We don't know that it won't help," John said quickly, "Right Sam?"

His youngest looked up, his eyes still red-rimmed and shrugged, "Yeah."

John frowned. He'd thought Sam would be ecstatic to hear about a possible cure but the boy seemed despondent.

Maybe he's still tired, John told himself.

"We have a month to gather everything we need and ask the professor any questions we have," John announced, trying to get his sons to see the silver lining as well, "That's better than scrambling at the last second."

Sam looked up again, dark circles under his eyes belying how exhausted he still was, "Next month, Dad."

SPN

"Sam, go lay down," Dean insisted as the small family dispersed; John and Bobby talking quietly about how to get the items needed for the potion.

Sam though, shook his head.

Dean sighed, "Just lay on the couch or something. I'll be right here and wake you if you have another nightmare."

Sam rubbed his elbow sheepishly, "Actually, Dean, I'm kind of hungry."

Dean rolled his eyes but smiled.

"Fine," he gave in, "We'll have something to eat and then you are going back to bed."

Sam didn't argue with the bargain and sat down at the kitchen table as his brother fried up some steak.

W

Dean waited until Sam's breathing was slow and even before he turned on the television and flipped through the stations quietly. He would have liked to get some shut-eye as well but he had promised his brother he'd watch out for him.

Dean's eyes flipped close a couple of times as he stared mindlessly at the TV screen. Sighing, he flicked the OFF button and leaned his head back, allowing sleep to embrace him.

SPN

Sam opened his eyes to see Dean with his head against the back of the couch, his mouth slightly open and his hand limp around the television remote control.

Sam felt a pang of guilt at the sight of his sleeping brother; Dean was only tired because he's spent the night watching over him.

Standing and stretching, the youngest Winchester listened for a moment before deciding that other than his unconscious sibling, he was alone.

Feeling badly, Sam left the living room, intent on going for a walk around Bobby's property and clearing his head. The afternoon air was warm, the sun shining as if the night before, the fourteen year old had not transformed into a blood-thirsty beast.

Sam looked up when he heard footsteps coming towards him and saw Bobby's dog, Winston Churchill, creeping across the gravel drive almost on his belly.

Brow furrowed, Sam crouched down and held out his fingers to the animal. He didn't expect the dog to roll over and beg to be petted but he wanted the animal to know he wasn't a threat.

Winston froze, eyes narrowed and growled.

Sighing, Sam stood and turned away. He guessed they could never be friends again. As long as he was a werewolf, Winston would always see him as a threat.

Moving quietly between the broken-down cars, Sam made a bee-line for the copse of trees behind Bobby's property that served as a 'woods'.

Sam didn't care where he went, just as long as he continued moving. He just wanted time to think.

He recalled his family's excitement at possibly finding a cure but Sam felt trepidation well up inside him. The professor had admitted that the potion had never been tested, so what if he drank it and nothing happened?

Dean and Dad- and Bobby, of course- would be so disappointed. Sam couldn't help but feel that this whole mess was somehow his fault. If he had been paying more attention to his surroundings that night he might not have been bitten. If he had been a little bit faster, a little bit smarter, all of this could have been avoided.

Sam's stomach knotted at the thought of having to go through the transformations again. He didn't think he could go through it tonight and tomorrow, much less every month for the rest of his life.

Sam sighed and crouched down. He picked up a stick and poked sadly at a snail that was slowly making its way up a moss-covered stone at the side of the worn path in the small forest.

The teen's ears pricked when he heard the sound of footsteps and he stood up carefully, scanning the surrounding trees. Was Dean awake and searching for him now? The woods stretched out past Bobby's house so the footfalls could belong to any of the veteran hunter's neighbours.

Sam relaxed when a small yellow cat crept past him, a few feet away, among the trees.

"SAM!" the boy jumped at the suddenness of the call, his nightmare suddenly rushing back even though it was daylight instead of nighttime.

Heart pounding, Sam pressed his back against a nearby tree, fingers clinging to the rough bark.

"SAMMY! YOU OUT HERE?"

It was Dean. His brother had woken up and was now searching for him.

Sam, knowing that Dean would be upset if he kept silent, called out, "Here!"

He listens to his brother stomp through the trees, twigs crunching underneath his boots and looks down, not meeting his brother's gaze as Dean approaches him.

"Sam, what are you doing out here?"

Sam shrugged, "Just wanted somewhere quiet to think."

"You could have done that in the house! You're not supposed to be out here by yourself," Dean chastised and Sam sighed.

"Don't you know? I'm the biggest predator out here," he commented, smiling slightly and looked up at his older brother.

Dean scowled, "That's not funny."

"Let's go back inside," Dean continued but Sam shook his head.

"I… want to stay out here."

Dean gave him the look their father used when he wanted an order to be obeyed without question, "Sam, you're still tired. You need sleep."

"I'm fine!" Sam snapped and walked a few paces away from his brother.

He turned when he felt Dean put a hand on his shoulder, "What's eating you?"

Sam didn't say anything for a long moment. Without looking at his brother, he answered, "I'm scared, Dean."

"Of what?" the older brother asked, humour in his tone, "You said it yourself that you were the worst thing in these woods."

Sam smiled slightly at the fact that even if Dean was irritated with him, he still joked, trying to make him feel better.

"I'm afraid the professor's potion won't work," he confessed.

"It'll work, Sammy," Dean assured him, "Professor Noonan wouldn't steer us wrong. She's a good friend of Bobby's and he believes she knows what she's doing."

"But you heard," Sam tried to argue, "It hasn't been tested yet."

"So, you're the guinea pig," Dean commented lightly.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, do you prefer crash-test dummy?"

Sam chuckled and turned to face his brother.

"Whatever happens, Sammy," Dean said, "I'm going to be right there beside you. Okay? I am not going to give up on you."

Sam ducked his head so his bangs covered his eyes, "Thanks, Dean."

"Hey! Look at that!" Dean exclaimed and Sam saw that the little yellow cat he had seen earlier was cautiously walking towards them.

Dean crouched down and clicked his tongue, "C'mere kitty… c'mere."

The feline trotted right up to Dean and rubbed its head against his outstretched hand.

"Aw she's friendly," he muttered and Sam smirked, "She?"

"Sure," his brother answered, "She's definitely a girl."

The cat looked straight at Sam with bright blue eyes- an odd combination with her golden fur- and walked forward, twining her lithe body between his legs, purring. Sam reached down and ran a hand tentatively down the animal's back. The cat stretched her back and rubbed her chin against his fingers.

Dean caught Sam's eye, "You wanna take her to Bobby's, give her some milk?"

"Bobby won't mind?" Sam asked cautiously.

"He's already got Winston," Dean reminded him, "Surely one more pet won't matter."

Reaching down, Sam picked up the cat, the feline going limp in his arms, purring loudly, like a car's motor. Dean smiled and walked beside his brother, watching him pat the animal and smiled.

W

The cat hadn't stopped purring. Even as she lapped up the milk Dean had poured into a saucer for her, she continued to rumble like the Impala.

"We're going to have to name her," Dean told Sam as they watched the cat from where they were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking sodas.

"Marmalade," Sam answered immediately.

"Marmalade? Like the jam?" Dean asked and Sam nodded; the cat's fur reminded him of the citrus preserve.

"Okay, whatever," Dean sat back, "It's your cat."

The slamming front door alerted the brothers to the arrival of the two older hunters and Marmalade leaped up on the table. Sam quickly grabbed the cat and covered her with his sweater, a sheepish expression on his face.

"The hardest thing will be gettin' our hands on that saint's bone," Bobby rumbled as he and John walked into the kitchen and stopped dead.

John's eyes darkened, "Sam, what've you got there?"

Dean jumped right in to defend his brother before he could talk, "Dad, now don't get mad. Sam found this really cool cat and she-"

"Cat?" The eldest Winchester asked and Marmalade poked her head out from underneath Sam's sweater.

"Oh no," John began, "No pets, you know the rules."

"But Dad," Sam begged, "She's not scared of me!"

John paused. Bobby, said nothing, deciding that it was best to the Winchesters sort things out on their own.

"Winston," Sam explained sadly, "W-won't come near me. He growls at me. But Marmalade, she isn't afraid."

The cat wriggled out of the teen's sweater and rubbed her back underneath his chin, staring at John the entire time.

"But… I said no pets," John repeated, "We can't keep it."

"What if she stays here?" Dean suggested, "If that's okay with you, Bobby?"

The veteran hunter shrugged, "I'm sure I've got mice here that need catchin'."

"Fine," John said, "But it stays here."

Dean smiled and Sam hugged the cat, glad that his father had been swayed.

"What're you calling it?" Bobby asked and Sam proudly told the older man that cat's name.

John rolled his eyes and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

"If she's gonna be stayin' here, we're gonna need to get her some food," Bobby commented.

"And a litter box, Dean pointed out.

SPN

"You ready, Sammy?" Dean asked his brother as he sat against the basement wall across from his brother.

Sam shrugged, "It'll be better to get it over with."

Dean nodded and frowned. Sam looked so tiny and vulnerable with the silver shackles on his wrists and ankles, his nakedness only covered by a blanket.

"Maybe it won't be so bad this time around," Dean suggested and Sam looked away from him, biting his lip.

Dean wished he could hit the rewind button and go back to the afternoon they had just experienced. Bobby had taken them into town to get some supplies for Marmalade. Sam had stared at all of the cat foods and toys and accessories like he was a kid in a candy store. It was almost comical how excited he was. After purchasing the necessary equipment: kibble, food and water dishes, litter box, and various toys, Sam had wanted to go into the room where the kittens for sale were. Bobby couldn't say no and they asked one of the employees to let them in to see the animals.

Within moments Sam had a half-dozen kittens crawling all over him. The girl who worked at the store was surprised, to say the least, and had stood there for a long moment, watching.

"Wow," she muttered, "I've never seen them act like that. Sure you don't have catnip with you?"

Dean smiled at the memory, strange as it was. After returning home, Sam had played with Marmalade for hours, completely ignoring both Dean and John's insistence that he get some sleep. It was good to see Sam smiling again, and laughing as though nothing at all was wrong, as if their lives hadn't been so drastically changed.

Marmalade was upstairs with Bobby and John now though, and Sam and Dean were waiting.

Dean saw his brother shiver and he sat up a little straighter, checking his watch.

"D'n!" Sam gasped and started to convulse, his brother's name seemingly torn from his lips.

W

The werewolf narrowed its eyes at Dean and strained against the silver shackles, its claws digging into the cement floor.

Dean licked his lips, knowing that he was in for another exhausting night.

He looked up when the door opened and Bobby peered inside, "How's 'e doing?"

Dean shrugged, "Same as yesterday. Still looks at me like I'm a Porterhouse steak."

Bobby frowned at Dean's macabre sense of humour.

"Hopefully it won't be like this much longer," he assured the younger man and Dean nodded glancing down- and noticed a yellow streak fly past the veteran hunter's feet.

"Bobby! The cat!" Dean jumped up and dove at the feline, missing Marmalade's tail by inches as she headed right for Sam.

"Balls!" Bobby swore and flung the door open, barrelling into the room. He ran to where the tranquilizer gun leaned against the wall but Dean could see that it was too late.

The yellow cat ran underneath the werewolf's feet and Sam jumped, jaws snapping.

Dean closed his eyes, he couldn't look.

"Dean!" Bobby cried and Dean's eyes flew open, expecting to see a broken body of yellow fur and red blood at the werewolf's feet.

Instead, Dean's jaw dropped open in complete and utter shock. Marmalade was standing atop Sam's back, purring. Sam, was straining his neck to peer over his shoulder, his tail wagging like a dog's.

"What…" Dean began, unable to say anything else.

Bobby set the gun down, "Well I'll be damned."

"But…" Dean stammered, and Bobby chuckled.

"That is one special cat."

Marmalade, her blue eyes narrowed as though in ecstasy, stretched and began kneading Sam's back with her front paws.

Sam wasn't snapping and foaming. Sam wasn't howling and straining against the shackles. He just stood there, with a cat on his back.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

John Winchester took long drink of beer, sighing sadly and thinking of his youngest son.

Was he a bad father? John didn't know. He didn't think he was.

He had a job to do, his sons had a job to do. Kill monsters and save people. So what if Sam was only fourteen? Dean had known about monsters long before his brother had, and had been hunting them before his sibling as well.

It wasn't that Sam hadn't been prepared, hadn't been well trained. But accidents happened, even to the best hunters.

Perhaps because he had been the smallest in the family, the werewolf had decided to go after Sam.

John set his beer bottle down and ran a hand down his face.

It was supposed to be an easy case- John had killed many werewolves before- and the eldest Winchester had only taken his sons along because they were the closest hunters. And if they didn't kill the beast that night, they would have had to wait an entire month in order to get another chance.

If John wasn't a bad father than why did he feel so guilty?

The hunter looked up when Bobby nearly ran into the kitchen, an excited look on his face, "John, come quick. It's the cat-"

"The cat?!" John exclaimed and stood up, his inner musings momentarily forgotten.

All he could think was that the damn animal had somehow slipped past Bobby and into the room where Sam and Dean were and had been ripped to shreds by his youngest.

"I knew it wasn't a good idea to let Sam have that ca-" John began as he followed his friend down the stairs and was gestured into the room, his comment ending suddenly.

The cat wasn't dead. Sam hadn't killed it.

Marmalade was quite alive.

"What the hell?" John stammered, unsure of what else to say.

Dean was watching the scene with a big grin on his face.

John looked over at his eldest son, "Dean… what's going on?"

"It's Marmalade," Dean said in amazement, "She's calming Sammy."

John stared at his youngest. Sam was curled up- nose on tail- with that yellow cat standing on his back, staring at them with its odd blue eyes.

"It's okay, Dad," Dean continued, "Sorry if Bobby scared you."

"That's… that's not normal…" John stammered, taking a step towards the werewolf and cat.

"John," Bobby spoke quickly, "We can talk about this later. Let that animal alone."

"But…" John continued, eyeing the orange tabby suspiciously.

Marmalade closed her blue eyes and yawned widely, kneading the shaggy fur on Sam's back until she made a nest and curled up, purring.

The eldest Winchester just shook his head, at a loss for words. Deciding he was no longer needed, John left the room, his thoughts on the odd yellow cat that had seemed to attach itself to Sam within the day.

John knew that it was not normal cat behaviour. Though werewolves often only attacked people, other animals stayed away from them out of a natural fear of large predators. Something just wasn't right with that feline. John should have put his foot down as soon as his boys had even suggested keeping it. There was no telling what kind of evil could be connected to it. The animal might be a skin-walker in disguise or a witch's familiar. No, tomorrow, they were getting rid of the cat.

But John could only picture Sam, calm and apparently comfortable, while he should be a savage, bloodthirsty beast.

The father glanced up when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs behind him and he looked over his shoulder to see Bobby approaching.

"What do you think of this?" John asked, folding his arms across his chest.

The other hunter scratched at his ruddy beard, "I'll admit I ain't never seen anything like it but right now anything that helps Sam is a good thing. Why? You still not on board?"

"It could be dangerous," John voiced his fear, "What if it isn't even a real cat?"

"We can test out that theory tomorrow, if it'll make you feel better," Bobby suggested.

John still wasn't convinced.

"Not every supernatural creature is a monster, John," the grizzled hunter reminded him and the father nodded, "You're right. It's just… it seems that all the evil gravitates towards us, you know?"

"I hear you," Bobby affirmed, "But it never hurts to have a little hope either."

SPN

Marty Coslaw leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms out in front of himself. He glanced around the interior of his tiny cabin, and wondered how Bobby was getting along with his werewolves.

It wasn't often when the hunter from South Dakota called Marty for assistance, the man could only count a handful of times he'd actually heard Bobby ask him for help. As a fellow veteran, Bobby knew about almost every supernatural creature out there and how to eradicate them.

Standing up, Marty walked over to where his hotplate sat and poured himself a mug of coffee.

Maybe he should pay Bobby a long-overdue visit. It had been a couple of years since the two men had met face-to-face and Marty was ready for a change of scenery.

He loved Alaska; it had a cold beauty to it but there was also something about the land that could drive a person crazy.

Yes, it was about time he visited the continental United States, perhaps lend Bobby a hand.

Gulping down the coffee in his cup, Marty turned off the hotplate and grabbed his thermal jacket, his boots and toque.

Closing the cabin door behind him, the hunter shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked across the snow-covered yard to his truck, his fingers playing with the silver bullets inside.

SPN

Marmalade sensed Sam's impending transformation even before Dean did.

The cat stepped nimbly away from the werewolf, coming to a stop at Dean's feet.

Sam lifted his head and let out a pained whimper, lips curling back to reveal his sharp fangs. Standing on shaking legs, the werewolf turned to look at Dean and Marmalade, tongue lolling out as he panted.

The older brother cringed when Sam seemed to turn to stone- his limbs rigid- before going boneless and falling to the cement floor, twitching.

Marmalade arched her back, her yellow fur sticking up and hissed. Dean reached down but quickly drew his hand away when the cat clawed at his fingers.

Dean averted his eyes when the werewolf started scratching at itself, nails digging into flesh.

The older brother stepped forward once he caught sight of his younger sibling laying curled up on the floor as he had been the morning before, sweat-soaked and exhausted. Dean knelt down and touched Sam's shoulder.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, handing his shaky brother his clothes.

Sam nodded, his eyes watery.

"You did great," Dean told him as Sam began to dress.

The younger teen said nothing until he caught sight of a small, yellow body on the opposite side of the room.

"Marmalade! What's she doing here, Dean?"

"It's okay, Sammy," the older brother assured his sibling, "She didn't get hurt."

"How long was she here?"

Sam stepped towards the cat and picked her up, cuddling her against his chest. Marmalade began purring, nuzzling her head against the underside of Sam's chin.

"All night," Dean answered and Sam's eyes widened in shock, "She ran in and kind of curled up with you. It was adorable. Now I wish I had taken photos."

Sam's brown furrowed, "But-"

Dean stopped him before he could continue, "You turned into a big puppy when Marmalade came in. Nothing was going to happen to her."

Sam lowered his gaze and stroked the cat's side, "Okay."

"C'mon, let's go get some breakfast," Dean announced, changing the subject and shepherded his brother out of the room.

Sam set Marmalade down and the cat ran ahead of them, up the stairs and onto the main floor. Dean walked behind his brother, watching as Sam made his way slowly up the steps, clearly exhausted.

One more day, Dean told himself, just one more and then we can be finished with this.

The older brother had faith that the professor's potion would work and that Sam would be spared the affects of the werewolf bite, he could at least have some semblance of a normal life again.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Sam backed away from his father, Marmalade clutched to his chest, as John approached him with a flask of holy water and a silver blade.

"Leave her alone!" Sam demanded, glancing at Dean for help. His brother stepped in front of him and the cat, blocking them both from John's line of sight.

"I just want to make sure its just a cat, Sam!" John argued, sounding irritated.

Marmalade, sensing the tension, squirmed in Sam's hold and the young teen dropped the cat. The feline landed on her feet and streaked past the eldest Winchester, screeching all the way up the stairs to the top floor of the house.

John made to chase after the animal but a hand on his arm halted his progress. Bobby eyed the younger man sternly and both elder hunters watched silently as the teens ran up the stairs, Sam in the lead, calling the cat's name.

"Come back!" Sam called and caught sight of the tip of Marmalade's yellow tail as she entered the guest bedroom.

"Sam!" He heard Dean yell his name but the fourteen-year old ignored him. He stepped into the room he shared with his brother whenever they stayed at the salvage yard and saw the cat standing on the bed, eyes wide and back arched.

Reaching out, Sam quickly scooped the animal up, cradling her like a baby. Marmalade began purring, her paws sticking up in the air comically.

"Sam," Dean said and stepped into the room. The younger man looked up at his brother.

"Dad was going to cut her," he said, "He was going to kill my cat."

Dean stepped towards his brother and shook his head, "He just wants to make sure that Marmalade's just a cat."

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean for a moment before glancing down at the animal in his arms.

"She's just a cat, Dean. You know that. If she isn't, why did those kittens at the pet store at like they did?"

Dean, trying to lighten the mood, smiled, "They know that your an animal lover, Sammy."

Sam met his brother's eyes and returned the gesture.

"Why don't you come back downstairs and have something to eat? I don't know about you but I could use breakfast," Dean suggested but Sam shook his head.

"I think I want to stay up here and get some sleep."

"Okay," Dean consented, knowing Sam didn't want to face John again, "Why don't I bring you something later on?"

"Sure," Sam muttered, sitting down on his bed. Marmalade climbed over his arms and stepped lightly onto the mattress, purring.

SPN

Dean heard Bobby and his father talking as he made his way down the stairs.

"Ya could of handled that better," the grizzled hunter admonished and Dean smiled; John was rarely knocked down a peg.

"How can Sam be so attached to that damn thing already? He's had it for a day!" John exclaimed.

Dean walked into the kitchen where the two older hunters were sitting and drinking coffee.

"Dean," John said as soon as he saw his eldest, "What do you think about this? You're with Sam the most, you should know."

Dean poured himself a mug of coffee and shrugged, "Marmalade doesn't run away from him. That cat isn't scared of him."

John didn't look convinced, "It could be some sort of a spell. If it's a familiar-"

"Dad, Sam loves every animal he sees," Dean interrupted, "You know that. Remember when he was little and always wanted to stare at the puppies for sale in the windows of pet stores? Or how he would insist on carrying whatever insect had gotten inside, out instead of killing it?"

John nodded.

"Animals like Sam. They always have. They always respond to him right away," Dean continued, "When Bobby first got Winston, that dog could have cared less about anyone else but Sammy."

John glanced down at the silver blade and holy water flask on the table and rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin and sighed.

"I'm gonna call Abby up again," Bobby spoke up, "See if she can find any connection between cats and werewolves, just to be sure."

Dean and John nodded. It was unusual for cats to warm up to someone as fast as Marmalade had, despite Sam's way with animals.

"He comin' down?" Bobby asked curiously.

Dean shook his head, "I think he's just going to get some rest."

The grizzled hunter nodded, "One more night of this mess."

SPN

Martin Coslaw smiled as he crossed the border into North Dakota. It wouldn't be long now. The longest part of the journey was always the drive through Canada. Not that the Alaskan hunter minded much, he enjoyed the scenic routes he always took. They gave him time to think without being concerned with traffic.

He couldn't help but wonder just why Bobby had called him for something so routine as werewolves. The beasts terrorized the continental US as well as Alaska- though they were not as plentiful- and the the grizzled hunter had taken down more than a few of them in his time.

He guessed he'd find out when he arrived.

SPN

Dean crept upstairs quietly, not wanting to wake his brother if Sam was in fact asleep.

Walking down the short hallway to the guest bedroom, he pushed open the door and smiled at the sight of his sibling laying on his side with Marmalade curled up against his chest.

Stepping into the room, Dean paused when the cat's eyes opened and went straight to his, the animal's tail flicking nervously.

"Easy there," Dean held his hands up and the cat seemed to calm down, her tail wrapping loosely around one of Sam's wrists, "You are really something, aren't you?"

The older brother reached out and stroked the feline's head for a moment, trying to decide if he should wake Sam up to eat something.

I'll let him sleep a little longer, Dean decided, the kid needs it.

As Dean turned to leave, Marmalade stood up and stretched, arching her back, and yawning widely. She jumped lightly from the bed and rubbed against the teen's legs.

"You wanna come with me?" He asked and the cat ran out the door, heading for the stairs.

Shaking his head, Dean followed the cat down the staircase and into the kitchen.

Marmalade jumped onto the counter and sniffed at one of the cupboards.

"What's in there?" Dean asked and opened the door, quickly spying a can of tuna.

With the door still open, the young man glanced at the cat; she just stared back at him.

"Okay," he shrugged and grabbed the can, "You're the boss."

Dean used the electric opener and scooped the tuna out onto a saucer with a fork for the cat. John stood in the doorway, watching as the animal leaped from the counter and onto the floor, gobbling up the fish.

"Dad-" Dean began, catching sight of his father but John held up a hand.

"I'm not going to do anything, Dean," he assured his eldest.

The young man relaxed somewhat and watched Marmalade as she finished eating, a satisfied look on her face.

The animal sauntered out of the kitchen and into the living room, jumping up onto Bobby's desk, stepping lightly over papers and texts. The grizzled hunter sat back with a slightly irritated sound and peered over the animal's back, "Yer in the way."

"Sorry, Bobby," Dean apologized and strode across the room to grab the cat.

"Alright son," the hunter waved him off and bent over his work again.

"What are you looking at?" Dean asked, wincing when Marmalade sank her claws into his shirt and climbed up to his shoulder.

"Huh? Oh, just researchin' some stuff for Rufus," Bobby answered distractedly.

John walked past Bobby and his son, heading for the stairs. Dean turned around quickly, "Hey, what are you doing?"

"Just checking up on Sammy," he answered and Dean was at his side instantly.

John placed a hand against his eldest's son, "I got it, Dean."

"If he's sleeping, don't wake him up," Dean asked of his father and John nodded, "I won't."

SPN

The oldest Winchester took the stairs two at a time, moving slowly though. He could feel Dean's eyes boring into his back as he climbed the steps.

Shoulders lowering in relief once he reached the landing, John sighed and ran a hand over his bristly chin.

He hoped that the professor's potion would work and that Sam would not have to suffer with this much longer.

He truly didn't know what they would do if the potion was a dud. He didn't know what he would be able to do for his son. Sam wouldn't be able to hunt, at least for a few days out of each month, and they would have to find a safe place for him to transform. They would have to keep Sam's condition a secret from other hunters as well.

Walking down the hall, John pushed the guest bedroom door open and saw Sam sleeping deeply, laying comfortably on his belly.

The father couldn't help but smile; it wasn't often his youngest looked so peaceful.

Stepping into the room, John crossed to the bed and laid a calloused hand on his son's brow, brushing his bangs away from his forehead.

Sam leaned into the touch, "Daaa…"

"Go back to sleep," John whispered and lifted his hand to tuck the blankets more firmly around his son's shoulders.

Turning around, the eldest Winchester carefully walked from the room, he closed the door, pausing when Marmalade streaked inside and hopped lightly onto the bed.

SPN

"Stop," Sam muttered and swatted at whatever was tickling his nose.

The soft, fluttering feeling did not go away, it continued annoyingly.

"C'mon," he grumbled, "I said stop."

Opening his eyes, Sam smiled when he saw Marmalade's blue eyes staring into his.

"Hey," he reached up and scratched behind the cat's ears.

Marmalade began to purr and laid down on Sam's chest, her eyes closed with pleasure.

Sam yawned widely, still exhausted, and closed his eyes, his hand still scratching at the animal's fur.

SPN

The sound of a car engine approaching startled Bobby away from his research. He turned in his chair and peered out the window behind his desk. Winston began barking, short, sharp brays that sounded threatening.

The two eldest Winchesters stepped out of the kitchen where they had just been having a late lunch, curious looks on their faces.

"Expecting someone?" John asked, moving closer to the older hunter.

"Nah," Bobby said and stood, grabbing the pistol he kept underneath his desk.

Shoving the weapon into the waistband of his jeans, he motioned at John and Dean to stay where they were.

"No way!" the eldest Winchester immediately tried to step up beside his friend but Bobby glowered at him.

"Stay put," he growled, "I mean it. Iff'n it's a friendly, I'll let you know."

The two younger hunters didn't look too pleased but didn't argue. Bobby nodded and stepped outside.

He caught sight of what was clearly a rental car- a dark green Ford Taurus- in his driveway and approached it cautiously. The driver's side door opened and Bobby was instantly on high-alert.

"That's far enough," he called out to his uninvited guest, "Put yer hands up where I can see 'em."

He watched silently as the driver did as he asked, raising his hands so that they could been seen over the open car door.

"Now stand up slowly," Bobby instructed and he jumped in surprise at the face that greeted him.

Thin and weaselly, with stringy grey hair and a short-cropped grey beard, the man looked the part of an old Gold Rush prospector.

"Martin?" Bobby asked, "What're ya doing here?"

The Alaskan hunter stepped around the open car door and lowered his hands, "I just wanted to see what was happening in your neck of the woods."

"It was curious to get a call from you asking about werewolves," he continued, approaching the shocked grizzled hunter, "I thought you were an expert on everything that goes bump in the night."

Bobby smiled but it was uneasy.

Sure, Martin was a friend but he had also been alone too long, nothing to think about but his next hunt. There are strange things done 'neath the midnight sun, Bobby thought.

"So you gonna invite me in or are we going to stand out here all day?" Martin asked and Bobby blinked as though coming back to his senses, "Uh, yeah, sure."

Bobby waved at the bay window, letting the waiting Winchesters know that everything was okay.

The grizzled hunter saw John instantly but not Dean.

"Where's-" Bobby began but the father interrupted him, "Upstairs."

"John Winchester," Bobby said, introducing the two men, "This is Marty Coslaw."

"Your name precedes you, Johnny," Coslaw said, pumping the other man's hand, "I hear you're a damn good hunter. Having some trouble with werewolves though."

The father's expression darkened, "Yeah, well, we have a handle on it now."

Bobby caught sight of the younger man glaring at him from the corner of his eye.

I didn't invite him, Bobby tried to tell John silently.

"What does a man have to do to get a beer around here, Bobby?" Martin announced, "You're fridge is where you left it, right?"

The grizzled hunter watched quietly as the Alaskan made a bee-line for the kitchen. He jumped when John grabbed his arm, "What the hell is he doing here?"

Bobby yanked his arm out of the younger man's hold and hissed, "I don't know! I had no idea he was comin' down!"

"He can't stay here, Bobby, not tonight," John insisted, an almost fearful look in his eyes.

"I know! Damn it!" the grizzled hunter swore and headed into the kitchen, barely paying attention to his friend when he stomped up the stairs.

SPN

Dean looked up, startled when the bedroom door opened and their father stepped inside.

"Sam," John said, eyes instantly drawn to his youngest, "How are you feeling?"

The fourteen-year old shrugged, stroking Marmalade's fur with his fingers, "Still tired. Kind of hungry. Can I have some bacon? Dean said someone's here; do you know who?"

John nodded, "The hunter Bobby called about werewolves."

Dean's eyes widened, "No! NO!"

"Calm down, Dean!" John snapped, "Nothing's going to happen to Sam, alright."

Dean reached out and put a protective hand on his younger brother's shoulder. Sam's eyes were wide and his expression uncertain, his hand had stopped petting Marmalade.

John ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair and sighed.

"Dad?" Dean asked, "What are we going to do?"

He didn't know this man who had sent them the shackles and the moonstones and the bear-trap but he decided he didn't want him anywhere near Sammy.

"We aren't going to do anything," John said, "Act like everything is normal. Bobby will get him out of the house before nightfall."

Dean wasn't too keen on the idea but there wasn't much they could do. As long as Coslaw left before the full moon rose, everything should be fine.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Just act normal, John had told them.

Sam grimaced; sure, act like a regular fourteen-year-old who wasn't going to change into a bloodthirsty monster as soon as the sun when down and the moon rose.

Dean didn't like the idea either; Sam could see the trepidation clear on his brother's face for a split second before the eighteen-year-old's cocky smile slipped back into place.

Their father ventured downstairs first, giving his sons time to gather themselves.

"What's he doing here, Dean?" Sam asked anxiously, "Did Bobby tell him-"

Dean slapped a hand over Sam's mouth to quiet him.

"Why would Bobby say anything? Bobby's not stupid, Sam."

Sam nodded and picked Marmalade up, the yellow cat going limp in his arms, purring contentedly.

"Listen Sammy, Bobby will probably just tell him everything's fine, that he has the 'werewolves' under control and that his friend wasted his time by coming down here. The guy will probably stay for a drink or two and then go."

"O-Okay, Dean," Sam said hesitantly. He had to trust his brother.

"You ready to head downstairs?" Dean asked jovially.

Sam nodded and stood, his grip on his cat tightening so that Marmalade growled low in her throat.

"Lay off the Wheaties there, Sammy," Dean suggested, "I think you're squeezing just a little too hard."

Sam looked down and met the feline's blue-eyed gaze and loosened his grip. The cat sank her claws into his shirt and climbed up onto his shoulder, tail wrapping around his neck loosely.

Dean smirked at the sight and led the way downstairs.

Sam could hear Bobby's familiar voice as he spoke with the visitor, and he reached up to rub between Marmalade's ears in an unconscious gesture as though to invoke good luck.

Dean entered the kitchen where the senior hunters were and was introduced. Sam watched from the doorway as Dean shook hands with the newcomer. The man was short but even Sam could see a dangerous shrewdness on his face. The man might have looked like some turn-of-the-Century prospector but Sam knew he was not to be trifled with.

"And you must be Samuel!" the man startled Sam and the teen resisted the urge to back away.

Stepping into the kitchen- under his small family's protective gaze- Sam took hold of the man's hand, feeling rough skin and callouses beneath his fingers.

"It's Sam," the boy replied automatically when the man released his hand.

Sam resisted the urge to wipe his fingers off on his pants but sat down at the kitchen table beside his brother instead.

"Nifty cat you've got there," Marty commented, and Sam shrugged, "I guess."

Bobby cleared his throat, gaining the other hunter's attention, "So, as I was sayin' Marty, there's really no point in you stayin'. I ain't a rookie anymore. I know how to handle a werewolf or two."

Martin Coslaw nodded, taking a drink of his beer, "I know you're no tenderfoot, Bobby, but all I was curious about was why you needed my help for something as mundane as a werewolf."

Bobby scowled, "I was hoping that while you were up in the Great White North you'd have found some different ways to catch the beasts. Traipsing through the forest in the dead of night ain't all its cracked up to be an' I'm not getting any younger."

Marty nodded sagely, "That's why I sent you that bear trap. Works wonders for me. Don't even have to leave my house. Just bait the thing and the bastards come running and- bam!- never know what hit 'em!"

Sam suddenly felt sick to his stomach when the Alaskan hunter laughed as though he'd been telling some joke instead of describing a rather cruel way of killing anything, werewolf or not.

Bobby pointedly avoided the Winchesters' gazes and peered at his friend, "I dunno what to tell you, Marty. The beasts have been taken care of. You wasted yer time for nothing."

The other hunter grinned toothily, "It wasn't all for nothing. I got to see you."

The Dakota hunter narrowed his eyes at the other man, "Don't I feel special."

Sam cringed a little bit when Marmalade dug her claws into his shoulder, paws kneading the fabric of his shirt, and John cleared his throat.

"Boys, why don't you go watch some TV?"

With a grateful glance at his father, Sam allowed Dean to take his arm and lead him from the kitchen.

Once both boys were settled on the couch, Marmalade stepped onto the back of the couch and sat down between them. Dean grabbed the TV remote and began to channel surf, not really paying attention to the shows, the volume low so they could eavesdrop on the conversation taking place in the kitchen.

Sam could barely hear anything over the beating of his heart. He inched close to his brother, seeking the older boy's support and the eighteen-year-old wrapped an arm around his sibling's narrow shoulders.

SPN

Get this guy out of here, Bobby; John thought as he watched the Alaskan hunter suspiciously.

He smiled though, when Marty made some joke, hoping that the older man would take the hint and leave on his own.

"So why are you here, Winchester? I didn't think Bobby was too partial to visitors," Coslaw asked and John sighed inwardly.

"Bobby's an old friend," John replied, trying to catch the grizzled hunter's eye and failing.

Coslaw nodded and finished his beer.

"Sorry to give you the bum's rush," Bobby spoke up, not sounding apologetic at all, "But I've got stuff to do and the I Winchesters have places to be."

John felt relief flow through him when Martin Coslaw stood and stepped out of the kitchen. Bobby and the eldest Winchester follow the other hunter to the door as he reluctantly moved towards the entryway.

"Too bad I missed all the fun," Marty sighed, "Glad I could help out anyway, though."

Bobby nodded distractedly, "Yeah, well, maybe next time."

John stood inside as his friend walked with the Alaskan hunter to the rental car.

He glanced down at the feeling of a small hand on his elbow and saw Sam staring out after Bobby.

"How are you feeling?" John asked, watching as Marty Coslaw backed out of the driveway.

"Hungry," Sam replied and John reluctantly turned his gaze away from the two hunters outside.

It was getting close to lunchtime by now so the father went into the kitchen and took a package of ground beef from the refrigerator, "How do you feel about burgers?"

Sam brightened up instantly, "Okay!"

John smiled and opened the package of meat. It had been a long time since he'd made hamburgers, now that he thought about it. The last time had to have been before Mary died.

"Dad? Sam's voice startled the hunter and he looked down to see his youngest gazing longingly at the ground beef still sitting on its Styrofoam tray, the plastic torn off the top.

"You have to wait until it's cooked," John told his son and Sam sighed, "Okay."

The father looked over his shoulder at the sound of the front door closing as Bobby entered the house.

"Damn," the grizzled hunter muttered, "Sorry about that John, I did not plan on Marty paying me a visit."

John shrugged, "We got him out of here, that's all that matters. Sam, can you get me something to put these burgers on?"

Bobby chuckled as the small fourteen-year old climbed onto the counter to grab a plate from the cupboard.

Dean wandered into the kitchen, warning his brother to be careful as Sam jumped the short distance from the counter to the floor and handed their father the plate.

"See Sammy, we had nothing to worry about," Dean laid a hand on his brother's shoulder and the younger teen beamed up at him.

"You think Coslaw will just go back to Alaska now?" John asked as he shaped the first burger into a patty and set it on the plate.

Bobby nodded, "He'll head back home where he can kill all the beasties he wants. He likes it better up there anyway."

SPN

Sam wiped at the juice dripping down his chin as he took his second, huge bite of his burger.

He didn't know his father could cook- the man could barely boil water, it seemed- but his hamburgers were actually pretty tasty.

"This is sooo good," he mumbled through a mouthful of food and his father raised an eyebrow, "Worth the wait? I thought you were going to eat one raw the way you were drooling over them earlier."

Sam blinked, surprised by his father's comment and laughed. He guessed his Dad was in a pretty good mood. Bobby had gotten rid of Marty Coslaw, Sam only had one more night of transformation and then they could start working on Professor Noonan's potion.

"Meow," Marmalade called and pawed at Sam's leg, begging for food.

The teen broke a piece of meat from his burger and reached down to the feline.

"Don't make a habit of that, Sam," John warned and the boy looked guiltily up at his father, "She's hungry."

"She has tuna," John countered, "And kibble."

Marmalade daintily took the offered morsel and then rubbed her face against the boy's hand.

"What do you wanna do when we're finished, Sammy?" Dean asked, his own burger smothered with condiments- ketchup, mustard, cheese and onions- while his brother's was plain.

"Can we play Scrabble?" Sam asked hopefully.

Dean rolled his eyes, "Really? You have awesome senses now and you wanna play Scrabble?"

"Please?" Sam wheedled and Dean sighed, "Alright, just one game. You'll beat me anyway."

"No, I won't," Sam insisted but Dean gave him an incredulous look, "That's only because you let me win."

Sam grinned and took a bite of his burger.

"Besides, how am I supposed to beat 'soliloquize'? I don't even know what that means!" Dean exclaimed in mock exasperation.

Sam knew that Dean didn't really mind if he won. He always commented on how smart he was to think of some of the most obscure words in the English dictionary.

Finishing his burger, Dean brushed his hands together and stood, "C'mon Squirt, let's get this over with."

Sam quickly stuffed the last bite of his own burger in his mouth and followed his brother into the living room where Dean was already taking the Scrabble box down from its spot on the bookshelf.

SPN

Marmalade swatted at the werewolf's snout and although Sam growled menacing at the cat, he lowered his front legs so that his butt stuck up in the air, bushy tail wagging.

Dean snorted laughter at the bizarre sight of a werewolf playing with a cat and wished he had a camera with him to capture the moment. The yellow cat batted Sam's nose again then lightly leaped into the air, landing on the werewolf's broad back. Huffing a sigh, Sam lay down on the floor, the silver chains clanking as he moved and Marmalade settled down, curled up between his shoulders.

Dean picked up the magazine he'd brought down with him and began flipping through it. It had been a long three days, stressful for everyone and Dean was more than glad that they were almost over.

The ingredients for the Professor's potion were nearly ready; all that was left was the saint's bone, which was a little difficult to come by. Bobby and John planned to go tomorrow and pick it up from a church in Rapid City.

Dean would be glad when this nightmare was over. He couldn't imagine how excited Sam must be to finally see an end to this madness.

W

"Dad, relax," Dean sighed, "We'll be fine."

John didn't look convinced. He peered worriedly at Sam who was lounging on the couch, watching TV with Marmalade curled up on his chest.

"I'm just worried-" John began but Dean interrupted him, "Sammy's tired. That's it, okay? Three nights of turning into a monster will do that to anyone."

"C'mon John," Bobby tugged at the other man's elbow.

"Call me if anything happens," John insisted.

Dean sighed, "Nothing is going to happen. We're going to lay on the couch and eat junk food all day."

"Alright," John said slowly, "We'll be back tonight."

Dean watched as the two men left in Bobby's old pickup truck before turning to his brother, "Time to par-teee!"

Sam smiled at his older sibling but didn't comment.

"You want some popcorn?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.

"Hey, found anything good on TV?" the older brother asked as he headed into the kitchen.

"Uh, An American Werewolf In Paris or The Terminator," Sam called, raising a hand to scratch Marmalade behind the ears.

"Schwarzenegger all the way," Dean replied, grimacing at the other title, "Gotta love Ahnald."

Sam chuckled at his brother's terrible accent and switched the channel.

W

Sam stirred when he heard Dean stand up and he lifted himself up on his elbows, looking over his shoulder at his brother.

"Did I wake you?" Dean asked apologetically.

Sam shook his head, "I wasn't really sleeping."

"Okay," Dean sounded relieved, "I was just getting another soda, you want one?"

"Sure," Sam answered and lay back down. He was tired; he could barely seem to keep his eyes open. Dean had told him that it was okay if he wanted to rest but Sam didn't want Dean sitting by himself. Besides, he was watching the movie.

Eyes half-closed as he stared at the television screen, Sam jumped when he heard a crash in the kitchen.

"Dean? You okay?" Sam peered over the couch, wondering if his brother had dropped a soda can on the floor.

There was no response so Sam sat up, "Dean, if you're trying to scare me, it's not going to work!"

"Dean?" Sam's heartbeat actually did speed up, his palms growing sweaty and he strained to hear. He grabbed the remote and jabbed the 'mute' button, The Terminator instantly silencing at the immortalized 'I'll be back' quote.

Sam stood up in alarm when Marty Coslaw stepped out of the kitchen, a gun pointing in his direction.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Sam moved to stand up but the hunter spoke, "Don't."

Swallowing fearfully, the teen stared at the gun.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam asked quietly, hoping that the man hadn't hurt his brother.

Marty Coslaw sneered, revealing a gold tooth nestled among its mossy siblings, "Don't play dumb with me kid. I know what you are."

Trying to be brave, Sam raised an eyebrow, "And what am I?"

"A monster," the Alaskan hunter growled and took a step forward.

"Y-You're crazy!" Sam exclaimed, failing to keep his voice from cracking.

"Bobby thinks I'm just some yokel," Marty explained, "But I ain't. I didn't get to be one of the best werewolf hunters out there by walking around with my eyes shut."

The man reached out and grabbed Sam's wrist, pulling him from the couch.

"Get off me!" Sam protested, struggling to tug his arm from the man's grasp, "Let me go!"

Sam froze when he felt the cold muzzle of the gun press against the side of his head.

"I can do it here," Coslaw suggested, "Splatter your brains all over the living room for your Pops to find."

Tears stung Sam's eyes and he shook his head ever so slightly.

"Didn't think so," Marty commented and yanked on Sam's arm, leading him towards the front door.

The man paused though, at the sound of a low hissing sound. Turning, Marty stumbled back, releasing his hold on Sam as Marmalade leaped onto his head, claws slashing at his face.

Sam backed up, eyes wide as the hunter grabbed at the feline.

"Don't hurt her!" Sam cried as Marty snatched the yellow cat by the scruff and tore her off his face, blood dripping down from a dozen cuts.

"Fuckin' cats! I hate 'em!" the hunter swore and threw Marmalade across the room where she hit the wall with a thump and landed in a heap, unmoving.

Sam didn't wait for Marty to recover and ran into the kitchen in search of a weapon. He skidded in a puddle of spilt soda and caught sight of Dean, lying unconscious on the linoleum floor, a goose egg forming on his brow.

Sam knew Bobby kept guns everywhere in his house and he yanked open draws, pulling out utensils to try and find one.

"Please, please," the teen begged frantically as footsteps approached. He yelped when a hand grabbed the hair at the back of his head and pulled him back. Sam's hand closed on the blade of a knife and he swung out blindly at Marty.

The hunter released Sam and the boy turned to see Marty holding his arm, an inch-long gash staining his shirt red.

"S-Stay away from m-me," Sam warned, lifting the knife again, the scent of blood causing his nostrils to flare and saliva to gush into his mouth.

Coslaw scowled and lifted the gun he still held, ignoring his injured arm.

"I don't have time for this shit," the hunter said and pulled the trigger.

Sam staggered, pushed back by the force of the impact. He stared down in shock and saw blood blooming on his shirt.

The second round brought Sam to the ground; he sat down heavily, a smear of blood trailing down the cupboard he leaned against.

Sam's vision blurred as Marty walked up to him and the stared through half-open eyes and the hunter grabbed his bangs and yanked his head up.

"You should be thanking me for putting you out of your misery," Marty told him and released Sam.

A bone chilling cold washed over the teen and he shivered. There was a deep ache creeping into Sam's abdomen and he curled inwards as it flared suddenly, like fire.

"Ah!" Sam cried and wrapped his arms around himself, falling over as he did so that he lay on his side.

Marty Coslaw sneered and walked away, grabbing himself a beer from Bobby's fridge before leaving the kitchen.

Sam's teeth chattered from the cold and his stomach muscles clenched in pain. Black spots danced in his vision, growing steadily bigger until they obscured it entirely.

The teen stopped shivering and his limbs fell limp, the soft pattering of blood the only sound in the room.

SPN

Bobby ran a hand through his hair as he waited for Abby to pick up her phone.

"What time is it in England now?" John asked his friend, "Maybe she's asleep."

"Than she should be gettin' up to answer the phone when it rings in the middle of the night," Bobby growled in reply.

The young priest, who looked fresh out of Seminary school, looked between the two men, apparently unsure as to whether he should speak.

"Sirs, I don't think it really matters-" the priest was ignored though, when Bobby's face broke into a grin.

"Abby! Glad I caught you! I need to ask you a very important question," the grizzled hunter greeted excitedly.

Finally, they'd get this sorted out.

"What's wrong? Is that child alright?" Abigail asked, her words slurred slightly with sleep.

"He's fine," Bobby assured her, "Now listen. Do you have that potion in front of you?"

"What? No, I'm in bed," Abby replied.

"Do you know if it said there needed to be a specific saint's bone?" Bobby asked, serious now.

He shared a look with John and rolled his eyes. The priest looked confused as to what was happening.

"Oh I don't know! I don't think so," Abby replied, "I think it just said the bone of a saint, why?"

"Well, we have a fella here who claims to have St. Francis' pinky finger."

"He's the patron saint of animals, right?" Abigail asked tiredly and Bobby chuckled, "Ironic, I know."

The professor sighed, "No, I think you're as good as gold with the bone. Now, is that it? Can I go back to sleep?"

"That's it," Bobby assured her.

"Oh, Bobby?" Abigail said quickly, almost as an afterthought.

"Yeah?"

"Let me know how it turns out, for the boy, I mean."

Bobby smiled, "I will. Thanks for everything."

The veteran hunter hung up the phone, setting it back in its cradle, "All right, Father, we're ready when you are."

SPN

John drummed his fingers restlessly against the handle of the car door, wishing Bobby would drive faster.

He just wanted to see his boys again. He'd been having a bad feeling all day and seeing his sons relaxing on the couch, stuffed with junk food, would put his mind at ease.

"Can't you drive faster?" he asked irritably. He knew he was being ridiculous; Sam and Dean were fine, but still, he worried.

"I'd love to," Bobby grumbled the response, "But I'd rather not get pulled over for speeding. Besides, what's the hurry? We can't make the potion for another month."

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose- a habit Sam had picked up whenever he was frustrated or stressed- in an attempt to calm himself.

"I just can't shake the feeling that I should have stayed with them."

Bobby glanced at his friend, frowning.

"You know Dean would have called if something had come up," he reminded John.

The younger hunter nodded, "Yeah, you're right. Dean would have called."

W

The father's feeling of unease did not lessen as they approached Sioux Falls, instead, if anything, it grew steadily worse.

John was out of the car before Bobby had shut off the engine and was hurrying up the porch steps. It was early evening, the sunlight casting an orange glow against the windows.

John frowned, shouldn't there be lights on inside?

He pushed open the door and the first thing the father noticed was that the living room was empty.

"Sam? Dean?" John called, his heart beginning to beat faster.

The hunter stepped further into the house and his blood ran cold.

"BOBBY!"


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Bobby ran up the porch steps and into his house. John was standing in the kitchen doorway, his back to the older hunter.

Bobby looked around his living room, noticing that the room was empty. Something was definitely wrong. Moving further into the room, trying to keep calm, Bobby noticed that although the television was on, it was muted, an old Steven Segal movie playing silently.

"Where are the boys?" Bobby asked and stepped towards his friend who had not moved from the kitchen doorway.

"The hell-" the grizzled hunter caught sight of a tiny, yellow body lying crumpled against the wall beside the bookshelves.

John turned to see what the other hunter had seen and his already pale face grew even paler at the sight of Marmalade's broken body.

Cautiously, fearing the animal was already dead, Bobby approached the cat and let out a sigh of relief when the yellow tabby lifted her head and let out a pitiful 'meow.'

Taking the afghan his wife had made off the back of the couch, Bobby knelt down and gathered the cat in its warm folds, frowning when he noticed that the feline's blue eyes were clouded.

"Johnny-" Bobby began but the phone in the kitchen suddenly rang shrilly, startling both men.

The father stepped into the kitchen, Bobby right on his heels and grabbed the phone.

"What?" the eldest Winchester growled and Bobby's eyes were drawn to the mess in the room.

There was a sticky, brown puddle of spilt soda- its can lying discarded nearby- spreading out from the refrigerator. That wasn't what troubled Bobby though, what made the old hunter's blood run cold was the red pool of blood in front of the counter and the crimson smear streaked across one of the lower cupboards.

John set the phone down gingerly, his large hands shaking.

"Sam and Dean are at the hospital."

SPN

John ran through into Sioux Falls General Hospital, his heart in his throat, and skidded to a halt before the nurses' station.

The nurse on duty glanced up at the out-of-breath father and asked calmly for his name.

"John Winchester," he answered, eyeing the people sitting in the waiting area, as if he expected his sons to be there.

"You're Samuel and Dean Winchester's father?"

John nodded, "It's Sam."

"Dean is in room 204 on the second floor and Samuel… is still in surgery on this floor."

"Surgery?" John's mouth went dry and his heart squeezed in his chest.

The nurse nodded, her bow-shaped mouth forming a frown, "I will let his doctor know you've arrived and he will see you as soon as he is available."

John nodded, feeling more than a little shocked. Of course he had seen the blood and the knife, but Sam in surgery? What the hell had happened?

"You can see Dean though," the nurse continued brightly, "He was treated for a concussion and a contusion to his forehead but is ready to be released."

John stared at the young woman for a moment, "Wh-What room again?"

Slowly, the nurse repeated the floor and room number where John would find his eldest son and the father stepped away from the desk in a fog.

He wanted to see both his boys. He wanted to know what had happened. He wanted to kick himself for ignoring his feeling when he had been sure something was wrong.

John jabbed the elevator button and waited, a million questions running through his mind, begging to be answered.

The elevator was crowded. The hunter squeezed in between a harried-looking nurse and a bored-looking doctor. An elderly woman in a wheelchair and an orderly took up the rest of the small space. John pressed the button for the second floor and took a deep breath as the lift rose.

The doors slid open with a tiny ping and John squeezed out into the hallway, eyeing the grey tile floors and pale blue walls.

He had always hated hospitals. John recalled the months he had spent visiting his mother in a hospital much like this one, pleading with the doctors to try chemotherapy just one more time, just once more. The doctors though, knew it was out of their hands and only told the young John Winchester to help his mother make final arrangements.

John frowned as he walked down the hallway, searching for room 204, that in his mother's last days, when the pain was more than she could bear, she would call out to her husband- John's father- who had abandoned them when his son had been barely out of diapers.

Shaking his head, the eldest Winchester found the room he sought and opened the door.

"Dad!" Dean cried and jumped off the bed he was sitting up in, rushing across the room and actually pulling his father into a hug.

Stunned, John didn't know what else to do but copy the gesture. He glanced down at his eldest son and saw a white patch of gauze taped to his forehead.

Holding Dean out at arm's length, John stared at his son's face, "What happened?"

SPN

Dean woke feeling groggy, his head throbbing with pain and a nauseous feeling in his stomach. Raising himself up on his elbows, the eighteen-year-old blinked a couple of times.

"Ugh," Dean groaned and got to his knees. Staring around the kitchen, his eyes drawn to his dropped soda can, the young man suddenly recalled why he'd been laid out on the floor.

"SAM!" Dean cried, images of Marty Coslaw's smug face, moments before knocking him unconscious, floated up to the forefront of the young man's mind.

Turning to face the doorway, Dean gasped when he caught sight of his brother lying against the cupboards, a pool of blood beneath him.

"No," Dean whispered and was instantly at his sibling's side, "No, no, please…"

Dean felt tears well up in his eyes as he pressed two fingers to his brother's throat, searching desperately for a pulse. There was none.

"No, Sam," Dean ground out, "Don't do this. C'mon."

Sam's face was ash-grey, his eyes closed, his clothes soaked with blood.

Dean pressed down harder, willing his brother's heart to beat. The older sibling held his breath and closed his own eyes, trying to ignore the pounding in his head as he waited.

Thump… thump… thump…

There! The pulse was weak, barely noticeable but most definitely there.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean muttered to his sibling, reaching under his brother to support his back and knees, "We have to go."

Dean staggered to his feet, nearly collapsing as a way of dizziness washed over him.

Not now, he thought as he took a tentative step, carrying his brother bridal-style; this cannot be happening now.

Taking a deep breath, Dean moved forwards, slowly, inch by inch and made it to the living room. From the corner of his eye, he saw Marmalade lying against the wall and his heart broke, knowing the cat was already gone.

Walking slowly, Dean made it to the front door and carefully pulled it open, hooking the Impala's keys by one finger.

Without bothering to lock up, Dean stepped onto the porch and sighed, slumping slightly. For a midget his brother was awfully heavy.

Dead weight, Dean thought and stepped off the porch, determined not to let that be true.

Gravel crunched beneath the young man's sock-and-feet but he didn't care as he hurried across the driveway and expertly opened the backseat, laying his brother carefully on his back.

Slamming the door shut in his haste, Dean ran around the front of the Chevy and sat down heavily in the driver's seat, his vision blurring from the rabid movement combined with a head injury.

The young man ground his fists into his eyes and squinted until his eyes cleared and started the car. Pulling out cautiously, Dean checked the rear-view mirror to check on Sam before turning his attention to the road that would lead him to the hospital.

SPN

"It was Coslaw?!" John asked, hands clenching in anger.

Dean nodded, "I don't know how he knew but obviously… he did."

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and wiped a hand over his face.

"I should have been paying better attention," he lamented, "I should have stopped him."

John shook his head, "You did nothing wrong."

Dean though, glared at his father, "I let that bastard get the jump on me and hurt Sammy!"

"I was the one who didn't want to leave," John reminded him, "I should have stayed with you boys while Bobby went to get that bone."

Dean didn't respond but stared at the front of his hospital gown.

"Where is Bobby?" the young man asked, lifting his head again.

"Local vet's," John told him; he had dropped his friend off before continuing onto Sioux Falls, "That cat is still alive. Whatever it is, that animal is one tough son of a bitch."

Dean smirked but then frowned.

"I'm worried about Sammy," he said unnecessarily.

"I am too," John replied and both men lapsed into silence, listening only to the hospital sounds around them.

SPN

"Marmalade will be alright," Bobby said as he sat down in the cafeteria with the two eldest Winchesters, a cup of coffee between his hands, "One of her back legs and her tail's broken but other than that she was just knocked out cold."

Dean smiled, relieved that Sam's cat was going to make it, the good news somehow symbolizing a positive from his brother's doctor.

Dean had told Bobby about what had happened with Marty Coslaw and the grizzled hunter looked like he wanted to drive all the way up to Alaska himself and ram one of his own 'werewolf' traps down the bastard's throat.

"I should have known," Bobby said guiltily, "Coslaw's a weasel."

"I just don't understand how he knew," John confessed, "We didn't say anything that would make him think Sam was a werewolf. He didn't see something, did he?"

Bobby shook his head, "All the stuff's downstairs in the panic room."

Dean stirred his bowl of chicken noodle soup, not really hungry, and tried to think of what could have tipped the hunter off.

"Maybe it was Marmalade," he suggested and realization dawned on both older hunters' faces.

Bobby shrugged, "If cats are attracted to werewolves… I remember Coslaw telling me about a woman up in Nuiqsut who had a Canadian Lynx that sat outside her house."

John frowned, "Why haven't we heard about this before? I have never seen any cats hang around suspected werewolves."

"That's cause we weren't looking for 'em," Bobby answered and took a sip of his coffee.

Dean looked up when he caught sight of a doctor walking towards them and opened his mouth to tell his father but then the man turned away and went to sit with some of his colleagues who were on a break.

Sam had been in surgery for hours now and with no word as to how he was faring, Dean was becoming more and more anxious.

Well, no news is good news, right? Dean thought and pushed his soup away, not interested in eating in the least.

W

"Dean," the young man felt a strong hand grip his shoulder and a voice calling his name, "Dean, wake up."

"Sammy?" the eighteen-year-old asked, blinking owlishly in the dimly lit waiting room.

Dean looked up to see his father and Bobby staring at him while a third man- who looked exhausted- stood a little off to one side.

"Are you Sammy's doctor? Is he going to be okay?" Dean stood up and confronted the man.

"One question at a time," the doctor said good-naturedly, "Yes, I am your brother's doctor and yes, he is going to be alright."

"Thank God," Bobby muttered and John sagged in relief.

"It was a difficult surgery but Sam's a fighter," the doctor continued, "We will keep him here for at least a week to make sure everything is in working order and to watch for infection but other than that, I don't have any concerns."

"Can we see him now?" Dean asked instantly and the doctor hesitated for the first time.

"He's resting right now-" Dean pressed, "We've been waiting all day!"

The doctor looked at the three men for a long moment but then nodded, "Alright, as long as he stays asleep. He needs rest."

Dean nodded eagerly, "Sure, sure, now let's go!"

The hunters followed the doctor out of the waiting room and down a long, quiet hallway. Dean had to force himself not to run ahead of the doctor in his excitement.

At the end of the corridor, in a darkened room, was Sam. The doctor opened the door and Dean stepped inside immediately, going to his brother's side and brushing the teen's long bangs back from his pale face.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean whispered as Bobby and John stepped up beside him, "Everything's gonna be okay now."

The doctor closed the door softly behind him, allowing the hunters some privacy.

Dean sat down on the edge of the hospital bed and peered at all the machines his brother was hooked up to: a heart monitor, two different IVs- one with nutrients, one with blood- and a tube that had been fed into his nose, attached to a bag hanging from the IV stand.

"Does he really need all this crap?" Dean asked trying not to touch anything that might hurt his sibling.

Bobby shrugged, "If the doc didn't think he needed it, Sam wouldn't have it."

"I guess," Dean muttered and glanced up when John set a hand on his shoulder, "He'll be alright."

The young man felt a lump for in his throat and he nodded. The doctor was right; Sam was a fighter. He'd be up on his feet in no time.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Early morning daylight slanted through the gauzy yellow curtains, streaking across Dean Winchester's face and making the eighteen-year old squint and sit up, yawning widely.

His gaze instantly dropped to his little brother but Sam was still asleep, eyes closed and his breathing even.

Peering over his shoulder, Dean smiled at the sight of Bobby and John sawing logs in the two visitors' chairs. The veteran hunter's baseball cap was askew and John's head rested against Bobby's shoulder.

Dean snorted quietly and stood up, stretching out his stiff muscles. He reached up and touched the bump on his head and winced, it was still sore.

Dean looked down at his brother when he heard Sam's breath hitch.

"Sam?" Dean whispered and he saw Sam scrunch his closed eyes.

Leaning over the bed, Dean brushed Sam's hair back from his face and the younger teen's eyes snapped open and he made a wheezing, chocking sound.

"Shit," Dean swore as Sam bucked against the mattress and his hands flew up to his face, intent on pulling the tube out of his nose.

"Hey! No!" Dean grabbed his brother's hands and held them away from his face, "It's okay, Sammy. You gotta keep that in."

Dean sensed his father and Bobby behind him. From the corner of his eye he saw John reach out and press the call button that would summon a nurse.

Bobby moved to the other side of the bed, taking one of Sam's hands in his own calloused ones.

Sam gazed up at his brother and friend through glazed eyes, his breathing rapid and shallow.

"It's alright son," Bobby rumbled quietly, "You're fine."

Dean squeezed Sam's other hand reassuringly. He looked up when the door to the room opened and John say, "He's awake."

The nurse took a cursory look into the room before retreating with a, "I'll go get the doctor."

Dean returned his attention to his brother and was alarmed to see tears welling up in Sam's eyes.

"Hey, shhh," Dean murmured, brushing Sam's hair back with one hand, "It's alright. It's gonna be okay. The doctor's coming."

Five minutes later the door opened again and the doctor and two nurses swept inside.

Dean reluctantly moved aside as the physician approached and he watched anxiously as the doctor checked Sam's charts for a long moment before turning to them.

"I'm going to give Sam fentanyl for the pain," he explained, "It should help."

"What about that tube thing?" Dean asked nervously.

The doctor shook his head, "I'd like to keep it in until the incision is healed more. I don't want the stomach acid dissolving those stitches."

Dean glanced sadly at his brother. Sam looked so vulnerable and sad.

"Okay," John said, "Thank you doctor."

"I'll come by again to check in," the doctor told them, "If you have any questions or if anything comes up, one of the nurses will be happy to help."

While one nurse left with the doctor, the second one remained, giving Sam a fentanyl patch. Dean watched as the young woman carefully drew the sleeve of Sam's hospital gown up and placed a clear piece of plastic on the teen's arm, just above his elbow. Dean thought the medicine looked like one of those patches that helped people quit smoking.

The nurse looked up and smiled somewhat coyly at Dean, "This should make him feel better soon."

Once the nurse was gone, Dean sat back down on the edge of the bed and took his brother's hand in his own.

Sam stared up at Dean with his 'puppy eyes' expression and the older teen's heart melted.

Gently, Dean reached over and gave his brother a one-armed hug, carefully not to jostle the tube or IV line.

"Dean," John spoke up, "You should let Sam sleep."

The eighteen-year old nodded and released his brother. Sam blinked up at him for a moment before closing his eyes. Within five minutes, Sam was once again deeply asleep, his pain assuaged by the fentanyl.

"Do you want something to eat?" John asked, "I was going to go down to the cafeteria?"

Dean paused, looked at his brother and then nodded, "Sure."

It would give him a chance to stretch his legs at least and he knew that Sam was safely asleep and shouldn't wake anytime soon.

"You coming Bobby?" Dean asked as he saw the grizzled hunter donning his faded vest.

"Actually I was going to head down to the vet's and pick up Marmalade," the older man said, "Take her home."

"Sam will be so happy to know she's okay," Dean said and John nodded, "That cat sure is something."


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Sam looked absolutely miserable in Dean's opinion but the doctor told the small family that the young man's injuries were healing nicely.

"When can he have that tube out of his throat?" Dean asked for the hundredth time, ignoring the irritated look the doctor gave him.

"In a few days," the man said vaguely, just as he did every time Dean asked.

The older brother sighed and brushed his sibling's bangs away from his eyes.

At least he wasn't in pain, Dean admitted, those fentanyl patches seemed to be doing the trick.

Yeah, Sam wasn't hurting but those meds sure did have some unpleasant side affects.

The fourteen-year old was constantly nauseous and dizzy, his pale features often tinged with green. Diarrhea left Sam embarrassed and sham-faced when forced to use a bedpan since he wasn't allowed out of bed to use the bathroom. Insomnia also plagued the teen, leaving him to toss and turn in the uncomfortable hospital bed, unable to get the much-needed rest his healing body craved.

John looked up from the magazine he was looking at and smiled sadly at his sons. He wanted more than anything to take Sam back to Bobby's but he wouldn't have his little boy checked out AMA, he had been too badly hurt for that, even by John's standards.

The father turned in his seat as Bobby Singer came through the doorway, walking slowly and carefully, one hand against the front of his vest.

"Bobby? What's wrong?" he asked concernedly but the grizzled hunter just smiled and put a finger to his lips.

Sam and Dean hadn't noticed the older man enter the room but now they both faced him as Bobby halted at the foot of the bed.

"What've you got there?" Dean asked and Bobby smiled, unzipping his vest to reveal a yellow, triangular head.

Sam's eyes lit up the sight and he held his hands out eagerly. The cat easily slipped out from inside the hunter's vest and stepped lightly onto the bed. The animal's tail was wrapped in a lightweight cast, as was her back left leg.

Marmalade gave a soft meow and crossed the blankets to Sam, rubbing her face against the teen's chest.

The boy hugged the cat, tears in his eyes. Dean had told him that the cat was safe but actually seeing her was different than simply being told.

Marmalade blinked up at Dean with her odd blue eyes and began to purr, kneading the sheets pooled at Sam's waist with her front paws.

"Thanks Bobby," Dean smiled at the veteran hunter.

Bobby shrugged, "Wasn't nuthin'. She was missin' Sam anyways."

Dean peered at his father and despite John's suspicion of the feline, the man was grinning at the sight of his youngest son and his beloved pet.

"I'll have to take her back soon," Bobby announced apologetically, "I don't think the doctor would be pleased to find her in here."

Sam nodded but didn't look away from Marmalade, his fingers stroking her spine gently.

W

A nurse came into the room three days later, carrying a breakfast tray.

Dean looked up at her and she smiled, "The doctor said your brother can have the tube out today."

Dean smiled and turned to his sibling, "Hear that Sammy! Step One in getting you the heck out of here!  
The boy smiled tiredly and nodded.

The nurse approached, "Can you hand me that bedpan?"

Dean's eyebrows knitted in confusion, "Why?"

"Your brother might vomit," the nurse answered matter-of-factly.

"Oh, okay," Dean said and grabbed the bedpan, setting it on the bed in front of Sam.

The nurse took a syringe out and inserted the end into the cap halfway up the length of the tube. She removed the air from the tube and peeled the tape off Sam's face that prevented the NG tube from moving.

Dean stood on Sam's other side, watching the nurse work quickly. He grabbed his brother's wrist and squeezed.

"You might feel a little discomfort as I take the tube out but you shouldn't feel any pain," the nurse told Sam gently.

Sam's fingers gripped Dean's tightly as the nurse pulled the tube out, working quickly to keep the teen from vomiting.

Once the tube was out, Sam gasped and rubbed his throat.

"Sam, you okay?" Dean asked as his brother retched.

The teen leaned forward, gagging. Dean shoved the bedpan underneath his brother's bowed head and Sam spat into the basin.

"Your brother should be alright in a moment," the nurse told Dean, "Try and have him eat something."

She indicated the breakfast tray she had brought containing a single-serving carton of milk and a bowl of applesauce.

Dean rubbed his sibling's back and nodded to the nurse. She smiled at the boys and left the room quietly.

"D'n," Sam said, his voice raspy, "Where's Dad and Bobby?"

Dean took the bedpan away, setting it on the floor beside the bed and helped Sam back into a sitting position. Sam's face was pale with red spots high up on his cheeks.

"Went to the cafeteria an hour ago," he explained. Both men had slept in the room the night before, as Dean had done, but unlike the eighteen-year-old, they had given into their bodies' urge to stretch their legs. Dean remained glued to his brother's side, as he had been since the doctor had allowed them to see Sam once he'd been released from surgery.

"They'll be back soon," Dean promised.

"You feeling up to eating something?" Dean asked and Sam nodded tentatively.

Dean set Sam's breakfast atop the moveable table attached to the hospital bed and glanced down at the food.

"Just eat what you can, Sammy," Dean told his brother and Sam picked up the plastic spoon sitting on the tray.

W

Dean looked up from the car magazine he was reading when he heard the door open and his father and Bobby stepped into the room.

"How's 'e doing?" Bobby asked quietly, glancing at the sleeping fourteen-year old.

"He's okay," Dean answered, "Glad to have that tube out."

John stepped forward and peered at his youngest.

"Dad? You alright?" Dean asked, setting the magazine aside.

The father nodded and sighed, "I shouldn't have left you boys alone."

"Dad-" Dean began but Bobby interrupted.

"You didn't know what was gonna happen, Johnny," the grizzled hunter told him, "Ya can't keep beatin' yerself up over it."

John shook his head, "I should have stayed to protect them."

"Dad," Dean finally managed to get a word in, "You were protecting us… protecting Sammy. Going to get that saint's bone could be the final piece of the potion that helps Sam. Besides, I should have been paying better attention to what was going on."

John opened his mouth to protest but Dean continued, "Sam's my responsibility. I'm the one has to look out for him… and I didn't. It's my fault. Not yours. What Coslaw did."

The father's jaw tightened but then he nodded once. Not completely agreeing with his eldest but not arguing with Dean's point either. He was the one who had told Dean he had to look after Sammy all those years ago.

"If anyone deserves to hang for what happened to Sam," Bobby spoke up, "It's Martin Coslaw."

Neither Winchester was going to argue with the grizzled hunter about that.

"We'll have to be more careful from now on," John said, finishing the conversation.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Sam leaned heavily against Dean's shoulder as they rode in the back of the Impala.

Dean smiled at his sleeping sibling, happy that they were able to bring him home after two weeks in the hospital.

Sam's wounds hadn't fully healed just yet but the doctor assured them that he was well enough to leave.

"When are you leaving?" Dean asked his father quietly so as not to wake Sam.

"As soon as your brother's settled," John told him, "Bobby and I will make this as quick as possible."

Dean nodded.

John and Bobby were going to pay Marty Coslaw a little visit.

The man was clearly unstable and needed to be stopped before he hurt anyone else.

Bobby's professor friend had called back saying that although there had been cases of cats being attracted to men and women suspected of being werewolves, it wasn't all that common. Cats were far more likely to be associated with witches as their familiars then the companions of werewolves.

Just how many innocent people had Coslaw killed simply because they happened to own a pet cat?

Although John hadn't wanted to leave his sons, Bobby and Dean had convinced him that Sam would be safe.

"I'm not letting Sammy out of my sight this time," Dean had said seriously.

W

John parked in Bobby's driveway and got out of the car, coming around to the side to help with Sam.

"I've got him, Dad," Dean said and picked his still slumbering sibling up.

John stepped out of the way and walked towards the porch instead.

He held the front door open for Dean.

Sam's eyes opened slightly as the scent of Bobby's cooking wafted towards them from the doorway.

"Oh, so now you wake up?" Dean smirked and set Sam down on the porch.

John followed his sons inside the house, closing the door behind them.

"Marmalade!" Sam called and a yellow arrow streaked towards him from the kitchen.

Sam laughed as the cat twined her lithe body between his legs, purring.

Dean chuckled at the sight of his brother and the cat. He was so glad the animal had survived Coslaw's attack; Sam would have been devastated had the cat been killed.

"When's dinner going to be ready, Bobby?" John asked, leaving his sons in the living room and meeting his friend in the kitchen.

"Couple of minutes," Bobby replied, "Why, you so eager to get to Alaska?"

Sam looked up at the comment and frowned. He did not want his father to leave.

"I just want to get this over with," John replied.

Dean squeezed his brother's shoulder comfortingly and whispered, "They'll be back before you know it."

Sam nodded and bent down to pick up Marmalade.

"I wish they weren't going," he muttered into the feline's soft fur.

Dean nodded, "I know but they can't let that lunatic hurt anyone else."

"I know," Sam replied and carried the cat over to the couch where he sat down. Marmalade squirmed out of Sam's arms and stepped onto the back of the couch, lying down behind the teen and continued to purr.

Dean left Sam by himself and went into the kitchen. He sat down across from his father.

"Do you think that Coslaw's really back up North?" he asked, his voice low so Sam wouldn't hear.

Bobby, who was standing at the stove, turned around and nodded, "There'd be no reason for him to stay here. He'd think Sam dead."

Dean nodded. He just didn't want to take the chance that the bastard had stuck around.

"Dean, its been three weeks," John reminded him, "If Coslaw was going to find out that Sam was still alive and come after him again, don't you think he'd have done it by now?"

Dean shrugged, "Maybe he'd wait until Sam got out of the hospital."

"Son," Bobby began, "If I know Coslaw, and unfortunately I do, he wouldn't stick around to make sure his work was finished. He'd know we'd come after him if he didn't hightail it out of here. Hell, he should know we'd still come after him."

"If he knows you and Dad are coming up there, wouldn't he hide or leave or something?" Dean asked.

Bobby shook his head; "He knows the terrain better in Alaska. He wouldn't want to go somewhere he wasn't comfortable."

"Just be careful," Dean said seriously, "You've gotta come back to help make the potion for Sam."

Both men nodded.

"We will, Dean," John assured him, "Don't worry."

SPN

Sam was stuffed. He had eaten way too much but he couldn't help it. After weeks of bland hospital food, Bobby's cooking tasted as though Wolfgang Puck had made it.

He looked up when his father and Bobby stepped into the living room, duffel bags in hand.

Scrambling up from the couch, Sam rushed towards John and grabbed him in a hug.

He felt his father tense up for a moment before he returned the gesture.

"I'm coming back, Sam," John told him.

"I know," Sam muttered, his face against his father's jacket.

"What about me?" Bobby asked and Sam let go of his Dad to hug the veteran hunter.

Sam felt tears sting his eyes and he blinked them away. He hadn't said anything to his family, but the thought of his father and Bobby leaving reminded him of the day Coslaw tried to kill him and that scared him.

Sam released Bobby and stepped back. John reached out and ruffled his hair, smiling.

"You take care of yourself," he told Sam and the teen nodded.

"You too," he replied.

John nodded, paused as though he wanted to say something else but then turned around and walked out the door.

"We'll be back in a few days," Bobby reassured him.

Sam nodded and watched as the older hunter walked out as well.

The fourteen-year old went to the front door and peered out the screen, watching as the two men climbed into Bobby's old pickup truck and backed out of the driveway.

"Hey Sammy," Dean called from the living room, "There's a movie starting. You want to watch it with me?"

Sam tore his gaze away from the retreating truck and shook his head, "I'm kind of tired, Dean. I think I'm just going to go to bed."

Dean peered at him from the chair he sat in, "You sure? Are you feeling okay?"

Sam nodded, "I'm just a little tired."

"Okay, Sammy," Dean replied and turned his attention to the television.

Sam climbed the stairs slowly. Why did he have a sinking feeling in his stomach?

Dad and Bobby knew what they were doing. They were experienced hunters.

But so was Marty Coslaw.

Sam shook his head once he reached the landing.

He was just tired. He needed to rest.

Entering the bedroom he shared with Dean, Sam closed the door without turning on the lights.

He looked up and gasped at the figure standing in front of the window.

"DEAN!"

SPN

The eighteen-year old tore up the stairs and flung the bedroom door open. Sam slammed into him, wrapping his arms around his middle and squeezed tightly.

"Sammy! What's wrong?" Dean asked and turned on the bedroom light.

"H-He was here!" Sam stammered, his face buried in his brother's shirt.

"Who?" Dean asked, prying Sam away from him and peering into his brother's frightened face.

"C-Coslaw! He was in the room!" Sam exclaimed.

Dean looked up instantly but saw nothing in the bedroom besides the beds and the dresser.

"He w-was in front of the w-window," Sam turned and pointed.

The window itself was closed, the curtains drawn away to let the moonlight in.

Dean stepped into the room and peered around. He saw nothing. No one was there nor was there any sign someone had been in the room.

"There's nobody here, Sammy," he said calmly.

Sam shook his head, "But I saw him, Dean. He was here."

Dean frowned, "You were seeing things Sammy."

Sam opened his mouth but then closed it. He nodded and wiped at his face.

"Why don't you get into bed and I'll turn the light out, okay?" Dean suggested.

Sam nodded and climbed onto his bed, pulling off his shoes and tossing them onto the floor. Without bothering to change out of his clothes, he pulled the blanket up to his chin.

Dean turned the light off and began to close the door.

"NO!" Sam exclaimed, sitting up, "I mean, can you leave it open, just a little bit?"

"Sure, Sammy," Dean said and released the door, "I'm just downstairs if you need anything."

Sam nodded and lay back down.

Dean sighed and walked down the stairs. He wished he had gone with his father and Bobby to make that bastard pay for what he'd done; now Sam was seeing him when he wasn't really there! Poor kid didn't deserve that.

Dean returned to the living room and sat down. He stared at the television, not really watching it.

Marmalade jumped up onto his lap and began to purr, staring up at him with her strange blue eyes.

"Why don't you go and keep Sam company, eh? I'm sure he'd like that better than me," Dean suggested to the cat.

The animal stretched, her back rubbing against Dean's chin before leaping off his lap and running up the staircase as if going to do just as Dean had asked.

Deciding that he didn't really want to watch TV anymore, Dean turned it off and headed upstairs himself.

Like Sam before him, Dean climbed into bed without changing, only shucking off his boots before getting beneath the sheets.

He turned so that he was facing his brother.

Dean smiled at the sight of Marmalade lying curled up beside Sam, her eyes closed and her purring loud in the quiet room.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

John stared out the window of Bobby's truck, tight-lipped and anxious.

"Don't worry, Johnny," his friend said, "Coslaw's nowhere near yer boys."

The father nodded, "I know."

Bobby glanced at him quickly, "Then what's got you so quiet-like?"

"Coslaw's off his rocker," John said slowly, as though he was trying to gather his thoughts, "How many other hunters like him are out there? The ones who have loose screws, I mean? Five, ten, more? Have they hurt people, innocent people?"

Bobby sighed, "The job gets to ya, you can't deny that. An' we can't exactly talk to a shrink about it either."

John nodded.

"I've known hunters who've drowned themselves in booze when they snapped," Bobby continued, "Others, well, if you're familiar with weapons like ours, it doesn't take much to do something drastic."

"The best thing we can do is make sure Coslaw doesn't hurt anyone else," Bobby said with finality.

SPN

Someone was shaking Dean's shoulder. It was his brother. Blinking tiredly, the eighteen-year old was pulled from his slumber into wakefulness.

"Sammy?" Dean asked and rolled over, peering tiredly up at his sibling.

"I heard something downstairs," Sam whispered fearfully.

"Huh? Maybe it's the cat," Dean replied.

Sam shook his head, "She's here."

The fourteen-year old pointed and Dean turned his head and saw the yellow cat lying curled up on his brother's bed, just as she had been when he'd last seen her.

"Do you want me to go check it out?" Dean asked and began to sit up but Sam grabbed his arm tightly.

"No! What if it's Coslaw?!"

Dean sighed. First Sam was seeing things and now he was hearing them as well.

He was almost positive that Martin Coslaw had not stayed in Sioux Falls. Why would he, when he most likely believed Sam dead?

But that didn't matter to the fourteen-year old. Even after being shot twice and nearly dying, Sam's ordeal wasn't over. His mind was convinced that that bastard was still around and jonesing for another go at him.

Dean listened to the silence in the house for a long moment before reaching out and squeezing his sibling's wrist comfortingly, "There's no one here but us chickens."

Sam didn't smile at the joke. He gazed at the bedroom door fearfully.

"Sam, I promise you that we are alone."

The younger boy sucked in a deep breath and nodded.

"Why don't you try and get some more rest?" Dean suggested and lay down again.

Sam moved to his own bed and sat on the edge. He reached out and stroked Marmalade's fur for a moment before settling in, pulling the blankets up over his head.

SPN

"Coslaw is going to know we're coming for him," John said, "He's gotta know we'd want revenge."

Bobby nodded, "Yeah, he probably knows."

The younger man glanced at his friend, "Then it stands to reason he'll be ready."

The veteran did not look the least bit concerned; "We'll just have to treat this like any other hunt."

SPN

Sam poked listlessly at the heap of bacon Dean plopped on his plate the next morning for breakfast.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, eyeing his brother worriedly.

The fourteen-year old shrugged.

"Dad and Bobby are going to be fine," Dean assured his brother.

"I know but…" Sam began but then hesitated, staring at his bacon.

"What?" Dean pressed, eyes boring into his brother.

"What if they don't get back in time," Sam confessed his worry, "For the potion, I mean."

Dean chuckled, causing Sam to look up.

"What am I? If Bobby and Dad don't make it back in time- which they will- then I will call the professor myself and get her to tell me how to make the potion? Okay? You trust me, don't you?"

Sam nodded his head vigorously, "Of course I trust you, Dean!"

"Good," the eighteen-year old said with finality, "That's settled then."

Sam tore off a piece of bacon and fed it to Marmalade; the cat pawing at his pant leg for a morsel.

SPN

John pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He had his cell phone pressed against his ear tightly, straining to hear Dean over the static.

"We've just arrived in Alaska," he told his eldest, his voice raised, "Bobby said it shouldn't be long now. The roads are fairly good this time of year. We'll take care of Coslaw and get back as soon as that's done."

It had taken the men two and a half days to cross over into Alaska, driving almost nonstop. It hadn't been as difficult to enter Canada as John had worried it might be. Bobby had assured him though, that as long as he had his passport ready and answered the border guard's questions- they were heading into the country to do some hunting- without sounding suspicious they would be fine. And they had been.

"The trouble is when we want to get back into the States," Bobby had told the younger man as they drove away from the border, Canadian flags waving proudly red and white atop the guardhouses.

John hadn't been sure if Bobby was joking or serious. He decided he didn't care to know and would let the veteran hunter do the talking when the time came to go back to South Dakota.

"Listen, Dean if we're not there in time to-" the father began but his son interrupted.

"I've got it covered, Dad," Dean assured him, "I'll call Bobby's friend and get her to guide me through the potion."

John cleared his throat.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dean insisted, "This can't wait. Sam can't go through another transformation."

What if it doesn't work? John thought. What if we have no choice but to let Sam change into a werewolf every month?

"If you're certain you can handle it," John answered instead.

Dean chuckled a little, "Let's cross that bridge when we get to it."

John nodded, "How is he doing, by the way?"

Dean sighed, causing the father to sit up more straight in his seat, at attention.

"He's okay," Dean answered, "He's having nightmares… thinks he sees him in the dark at night or hears him."

John didn't have to ask who 'him' was.

"But he's getting better," Dean said quickly, "As long as Marmalade's with Sam, he doesn't seem to get as scared."

That son of a bitch, John thought. He'd hoped that when Sam had shown no signs of having nightmares at the hospital that they had dodged the bullet. It didn't seem that way though. Perhaps being in the same house where he had been attacked and nearly killed was causing Sam's subconscious stress.

"Okay," John answered, "I should let you go. The static is driving me nuts. Tell Sam I said 'hello."

"Same from me," Bobby commented loudly, eyes fixed on the road.

"And Bobby too."

"I will. Be careful. Show Coslaw nobody messes with the Winchesters and gets away with it," Dean said and the connection was lost.

John put his phone in his pocket and sighed. Bobby glanced over at him, an eyebrow raised.

"I'll be happy once we're back at the Salvage Yard," the father answered his friend's unspoken question.

W

The roads in Alaska- at least the main ones- were in good condition: paved, free of potholes and snow.

There was little snow on the ground but the local plant-life was uninspiring. The short grass was yellow and brown, orange lichen covered rocks jutting up from the still-frozen earth and the few trees were either majestic, dark pines or spindly skeletons of no discernable species.

"How can people live out here?" John asked out loud.

Bobby shrugged, "Some folks love it."

John snorted.

"It is beautiful," Bobby continued, "In its own way. In winter when its all barren and white and blue. At night you can see the Northern Lights. Fishing and game hunting up here is very popular. "

"How much longer to Coslaw's?" John asked to change the subject.

Bobby shook his head, "Couple of hours yet."

SPN

Dean smirked at the sight of his brother carrying the yellow cat around as though the animal were a baby. Marmalade was cradled in Sam's arms on her back, her feet sticking up in the air, her tail curled against one arm while her head rested against the other.

Sam though, didn't share his brother's humour.

"She'll know if Coslaw's here."

The eighteen-year old sighed.

"Sammy," he said, "He's not here. He's nowhere near us. He's back in Alaska."

"How do you know for certain, Dean?" Sam asked.

"Bobby's known Coslaw for a while and he knows how that bastard's mind works."

Dean stood up from where he was seated on the couch and moved to stand in front of his brother.

"If that asshole was still here," he began, "Don't you think he'd try and finish the job he started as soon as Dad and Bobby left?"

Sam thought for a moment, tipping the cat out of arms- the animal landed on her feet and ran into the kitchen- before rubbing at his abdomen.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, concernedly.

Sam nodded distractedly but Dean reached out and lifted his brother's shirt.

The twin bullet wounds- enlarged due to necessary surgery- had all but faded. Dean guessed it was because of Sam's supernatural condition. Just as the wounds he'd received from the werewolf attack- barring the bite itself- the ones he'd received from Coslaw's bullets were quickly vanishing as though they had never been there to begin with.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked, releasing his brother's shirt.

"Okay," Sam answered.

"Do you want to watch some TV?" Dean asked but his brother shook his head.

"I think I'm going to go to bed," Sam answered.

Dean frowned. It was mid-afternoon. Much too early to go to bed.

Sam turned and called his cat; Marmalade loping towards him from the kitchen and followed the young teen as he made his way upstairs.

Dean remained where he was. He would let Sam sleep for a while before bringing him something to eat and perhaps coax him back downstairs. He knew that Sam was still recovering from Coslaw's attack and that with the full moon approaching his brother wasn't really feeling spunky. But Dean didn't want Sam to feel as though he was alone. Far from it. Dean was with him. Their Dad was with him. Bobby was with him. Dean didn't want Sam to forget that.

SPN

Bobby's trunk bumped and clunked over the dirt road.

John grabbed the seat with both hands to keep from jostling around too much and glanced at the older hunter.

"How much further?" John asked, trying to avoid biting his tongue as he spoke.

"Few miles yet," Bobby muttered, "Just sit tight."

The younger man raised an eyebrow. Sit tight? Better said than done.

W

"That's it?" John asked as he stared out the truck's windshield at the small wooden house sitting before them. There was not even a path or lane- much less a road- leading to Martin Coslaw's house. It really was in the middle of nowhere. Bobby had parked behind a copse of pines, trying to keep his dark green pickup as hidden as possible. He didn't think Coslaw would easily see his vehicle from his home if he peered out the window. It was growing dark and the trees shadows covered the truck black pools.

The building in question was made of wood, with a rusted tin roof but looked totally uninhabited. No smoke drifted form the blackened chimney and the grimy windows where dark. The old pickup that sat in front of the house looked like it belonged in Bobby's Salvage Yard.

"That's it," Bobby confirmed.

"Leaves much to be desired," the veteran hunter said, "Don't it?"

John frowned. He wasn't sure they were at the right place.

"Should we get out?" He asked. He had never hunted another hunter and he wasn't really sure how to go about it.

Bobby nodded and opened his door, "Slowly."

The father did as his friend suggested and set foot on the permanently frozen ground silently. Bobby slipped from the cab to the bed of his truck and grabbed his duffel bag.

Bobby motioned for John to join him on his side of the vehicle- it was furthest from the door of the cabin and shielded them any attack- and unzipped his bag.

He handed John a gun and got one for himself.

Checking to make sure it was loaded, Bobby used hand signals to communicate to John that they should split up and walk around the sides of the cabin to the front, surprising Coslaw.

John nodded and instantly fell into a crouch. His boots crunched dully against the frosty grass as he approached the far side of the cabin, moving around the back of the dilapidated building.

As soon as he saw the rear of the cabin, John knew they were not mistaken.

A tangled pile of chains and shackles sat against the back wall of the building- silver, undoubtedly- and bear traps with red stains coating their teeth sat in another unorganized clump.

John pressed his back against the side of the building as he snuck around the corner, keeping his head low as he moved forward so that he would not be seen if Coslaw happened to look out the window.

At the front of the house, he poked his head around the corner and saw Bobby already in position.

With another hand gesture from the veteran hunter, both men slipped to the front of the building, guns raised, ready to kick down the door and deliver justice for the youngest member of their family.

A gun blast caused both men to jump and crouch down protectively.

John's finger twitched on the trigger of his own gun as a second shot rang out.

Bobby swore under his breath, hunkered down as low as he could, gun pointed at the door.

Apparently they hadn't been as sneaky as they'd hoped.

John looked up sharply as the door of the cabin flung open and Martin Coslaw stood in its frame, his face flushed and his eyes wide and feverish.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

"I knew you'd come." Martin Coslaw said blandly, "I knew it."

He raised his hands and discharged his shotgun at the two other hunters, causing Bobby and John to dive out of the way.

Bobby landed hard on his side, the turf in front of him torn up by shotgun pellets.

"Balls," he swore under his breath and raised his own gun but John was faster.

Martin cried out and stumbled back into the doorway of his cabin as the porch at his feet exploded sending wooden shrapnel flying in every direction.

"You shot my boy!" John snarled and leaped up the creaky porch steps, "You son of a bitch!"

Bobby scrambled to his feet and rushed to John's side, grabbing the younger hunter's shoulder.

The interior of Martin's cabin was dark and grimy. Three hurricane lamps gave off meager light, illuminating grungy wood floors coated in years of mud and dust and dark red stains that looked unsettlingly like blood. A small potbellied stove sat in one corner with a battered copper kettle sitting atop its single burner. A single cot along one wall served as Coslaw's bed. A cardboard box, filled almost to bursting with silver bullets, sat beside the doorway.

The cabin smelt of blood and sweat and something else. A distinct stench that Bobby didn't instantly recognize but quickly figured out, causing him to dig his fingers into John's shoulder.

"He's sick, Johnny," he murmured to the younger man.

"You've got that right," the father replied but Bobby shook his head, peering down at Coslaw who had not picked himself up from where he had fallen.

"I mean sick," the veteran hunter pressed.

He bent down and stared at Coslaw.

"What happened to you, hoss?" he asked, "Got a foot stuck in one of yer own werewolf traps, did you?"

Coslaw peered up at Bobby, apparently uncomprehending his words for a long moment before he sneered.

"Your bastard!" he snapped at John, "Your bastard son did this to me!"

With a rough jerk, Martin brought one sleeve of his checkered flannel shirt down to his elbow, revealing a dirty bandage-wrapped forearm.

John almost growled at the man calling his youngest a bastard but Bobby could see a look of pride cross his face for an instant. Sam hadn't been defenseless against Coslaw.

Now that the bandaging was exposed to air, Bobby caught a whiff of a foul odor issuing from them.

That's gangrene, he thought, I'd bet my house on it.

John stepped forward and kicked the dropped shotgun out of Coslaw's reach.

"You going to kill me?" Martin asked John.

The younger hunter didn't say anything. He simply cocked his weapon and pointed it at Martin's chest.

"Really? I was doing you a favour," Coslaw said, "Taking care of the werewolf for you."

"His name is Sam," John said calmly.

Martin's eyes rolled in their sockets until he was looking at Bobby.

"You're going to let him shoot me? We both know I'm a goner anyway. What with this," the Alaskan hunter said, raising his bandaged arm for emphasis.

"I always told you your aversion to hospitals would get you killed one day," Bobby reminded the other man.

"Then I'll just speed you along," John broke in.

Turning his attention back to the father, Coslaw grinned.

"Did you cry?" he asked, "Did you cry when you saw the monster?"

John knelt down beside Coslaw, gun pressing against the man's heaving chest.

"I did," he said quietly, "And you know why?"

Martin shook his head. He wasn't even looking at Bobby. He knew he was going to die and the grizzled hunter supposed getting blown away was a hell of a lot better than burning with infection.

"I cried because Sam was still alive."

The sound of the gun startled even Bobby. Coslaw's body jerked once before hitting the ground, blood seeping from the wound in his chest.

John stood and turned to Bobby, crimson droplets on his face.

"Are we done here?"

Bobby nodded, "No one will miss him."

The father wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt and followed Bobby out the door.

W

"Johnny, are you alright?" Bobby asked after a long silence.

The two had been driving for a couple of hours now and the younger hunter had not said a word. He hadn't even yet called his sons to tell them they were heading back to Sioux Falls.

John sighed and shook his head but answered in the affirmative.

"I'm fine."

Bobby raised an eyebrow, "Uh huh?"

The father wiped a hand over his face and glanced at his friend.

"I just thought that once Coslaw was gone," he confessed, "That I'd feel better. I don't."

Bobby pressed his lips together, thinking.

"Did ever kill anyone?" he asked slowly, "In the war, I mean."

John's eyes widened for a moment and he paused.

"Yes… but that was different. You didn't really see who you killed, you know. You'd just shoot into the jungle or throw a grenade… At least I never got close enough to see anyone. But I knew. I knew that I'd just murdered someone, some man probably my own age."

"But this was different. I could see Coslaw's face."

Bobby nodded but said nothing.

"He wasn't human," he spoke finally, "Though he might have looked it. He killed innocent people and almost killed Sam."

"You're right," John replied, "I shouldn't think of him as human. He wasn't… not really. Just another type of monster."

The hunters grew silent again after that, watching the Alaskan wilderness pass them by as they drove, wanting nothing more than to return to Sioux Falls.

SPN

"That's great!" Dean exclaimed excitedly.

"How's Sam doing?" John asked. The father had just told his eldest that they should expect him and Bobby home in a day.

"Same," Dean reported, "But hopefully knowing that S.O.B is gone forever will make him feel better."

Dean was sure that once Sam was told Coslaw was dead as a doornail he'd feel more relaxed, safer.

"We should be back in time to help make the Professor's potion," John told his son and Dean nodded, "Sounds good."

After a quick goodbye, Dean put the phone back on the cradle and poked his head into the living room. He had been making up some lunch for himself and Sam when the phone rang.

He could just make out the top of his brother's head above the back of the couch and he smiled. He knew Sam was leaning back against the cushions with Marmalade lounging on his belly.

Dean grabbed the sandwiches he'd made and headed into the living room.

"That was Dad," he announced, setting the saucers down on the coffee table.

Sam pushed the cat off her perch and sat up, taking one of the sandwiches and ignoring the plate it was sitting on.

"What did he say?"

"They'll be back in a day," Dean told him, using his own plate to catch crumbs as he took a seat on the couch beside his brother.

"Is Coslaw…" Sam began but didn't finish the question, his mouth full of ham and roast beef.

Dean nodded, "Bear chow."

Sam swallowed and sat his sandwich down.

"You okay? I thought you'd be happy to hear that bastard was dead," Dean said concernedly.

"Oh, I am," Sam replied, "Its just… do you think he'll be the first?"

Dean frowned, confused.

"The first what?"

"Do you think they'll be others? Hunters, I mean, who try to kill me?" Sam asked nervously.

Dean sighed and set his sandwich aside.

"Not if we're careful," he told Sam, "Once we get this potion working for you. We can leave and Dad can keep hunting as though nothing's happened. We'll be careful. We won't take you on werewolf hunts anymore, keep you away from silver, and make that potion every month… There's no reason anyone else should find out about you. Okay?"

Sam nodded, "Okay."

He looked up at Dean and smiled. The older brother returned the gesture.

Picking up his sandwich again, Sam continued eating, Marmalade at his side begging for food.

SPN

John's estimation was correct. The next day, in the early evening, Bobby pulled into his driveway.

Exhausted, the grizzled hunter wanted nothing more than to change his clothes and go to bed for a few hours.

Unfortunately, with the full moon fast approaching, there were preparations to be made.

In but three days time, Sam would become a werewolf once more unless he received the potion invented by Jean LaRuc.

Bobby called Abigail, asking her for the minutest details on how to prepare the concoction, not wanting to get anything wrong.

"Oh I hope it works, Bobby," the Englishwoman said for the nth time since he had called her.

"I trust you, Abby," Bobby replied confidently, grey eyes wearily reading over the instructions for the third time.

"I know you do," she said, "I'm just not sure I trust a holy man who lived five hundred years ago."

Bobby sighed, "Well, it'll either work or it won't."

Or it'll kill Sam.

"Alright Abby," the hunter concluded, "Looks like I've got everything down. I'll give you a call when we're finished."

"Good luck," the professor said and hung up the phone.

SPN

The tension in Bobby's house was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

Dean tried to stay positive, assure his brother that everything would be alright but it seemed as though Sam sensed his trepidation and mirrored it.'

Now that the full moon was only days away, Dean couldn't help but feel anxious again, as though it were the first time Sam was transforming.

But he won't! We'll give him the potion and he won't change, Dean told himself.

No matter how many times he thought it, Dean still worried that the potion would not work.

He saw the same fear on the faces of his brother and father and friend.

They tried not to say it out loud though, as if speaking that fear, now that the time was so near, would make it real.

The night before the day of the first full moon, Dean found himself sitting on the edge of his brother's bed as he slept. He was looking down at his younger sibling, curled up in the blankets. Sam looked so peaceful when he was sleeping. None of the worries or fears of the day showed on his face now.

Dean reached out and brushed Sam's bangs away from his brow. Marmalade, who was sleeping on the pillow beside the fourteen-year old's head, gave a low growl before Dean stroked her back, calming her.

"I think you're the only one here who isn't concerned at all," Dean muttered.

The cat's blue eyes flashed green at him in the darkness and she purred.

Sighing, Dean stood and walked the short distance to his own bed, lying down on the cool sheets.

He felt drained and knew he should get some rest for what was to happen tomorrow.

Dean though, found himself staring at the ceiling for a long time before sleep finally took him.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Bobby and the Winchesters occupied the tiny kitchen the next day, the grizzled hunter peering at the collection of ingredients for the Professor's potion.

Silver shavings, the finger bone of St. Francis, Wolf's bane leaves, and a flask of holy water sat atop the worn counter, looking rather out of place next to the breadbox and kettle.

It's now or never, the grizzled hunter thought and set to work preparing the potion.

The Winchesters watched silently as Bobby put a pot on the stovetop and poured holy water into it, setting it to boil. Next he coarsely chopped the Wolf's bane, the leaves releasing a scent similar to fresh-cut grass. Bobby added the plant to the boiling water and stirred it quickly with a wooden spoon.

"Are you sure that's the amount you're supposed to use?" John asked.

Wolf's bane was highly toxic and the father felt unease at the prospect of his son ingesting that much of the poisonous plant.

Bobby nodded, "That's what Abigail said. Of course, Sam won't be actually eating any of this. All the ingredients need to boil together for six hours and then go through a strainer so that all that's left is liquid. Sam's gotta drink that."

Silver shavings were added next. As they hit the water and Wolf's bane leaves they hissed, sending a plume of metallic-smelling steam into the air.

Lastly, Bobby carefully used an old cheese grater to add a bit of saint's bone to the pot, merely a dusting really.

"That's it?" Dean asked skeptically.

The potion didn't really look like a potion. It was more like some strange soup, greenish-yellow and bubbling furiously.

"Yup," Bobby said, "Now it's gotta boil."

He put the lid on the pot and cleaned up the countertop as casually as if he had just been preparing nothing more than another meal for his hungry hunter friends.

"What're y'all standing there gaping at?" he grumbled, turning around to find all three Winchesters starting at the pot on the stove.

"It ain't gonna cook any faster if you look at it," Bobby told them and Dean shook his head slightly.

"C'mon Sammy," he said, taking his brother by the elbow, "Let's go outside."

John however, didn't move. He sighed and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

Bobby gave the man a sympathetic look.

"I wouldn't have done this if I didn't trust Abby," he told the younger man, "She may not be much of a hunter but she knows what she's doing."

John nodded, "I just hope it works, Bobby."

"I know. We all do."

SPN

Sam sat on the ground, picking at bits of grass as Dean shot cans.

The eighteen-year old didn't really need to practice shooting, it was really just an excuse to get out of the house and release some pent-up anxiety.

Sam didn't call his brother on it though; he didn't really want to be inside either.

The idea of drinking the potion made his stomach churn but he would, if it helped stop his transformations.

He was scared though. He wished he'd been more careful on that hunt in Devils Lake. If he had been faster he might have avoided all of this.

"Sam? Are you listening?" Dean's voice jolted the teen from his thoughts.

"Huh?" he muttered, blinking up at his brother.

"You want a go?" Dean asked, waving a hand in the direction of the empty bean cans.

Sam shrugged, "No. I'm okay."

Dean didn't move.

"It's going to be alright, Sammy."

Sam swallowed. He was getting tired of his brother saying that.

"I know."

It was his own fault he had ended up like this. He just wasn't as good a hunter as his brother. Dean never would have been bitten. Dean would have been able to get out of the beast's way in time.

But he hadn't and now all their lives were messed up because of it.

What would it be like to be back on the road again? Hunting? Keeping their secret?

Could they do it?

Would others find out, like Coslaw, and come after him?

What if they shot to kill and didn't miss like he had?

"Okay Sam," Dean's voice announced, "Get up."

The fourteen-year old peered up at his brother, confused.

"You are not going to mope all day," Dean told him and grabbed his arm, pulling Sam to his feet.

Sam didn't struggle and followed his brother as Dean led him out of the small copse of trees they were in and headed towards the junkyard.

Dean released his brother's arm and pulled the Impala's keys from his pocket.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"We are going to town," Dean amended.

Sam blanched.

"What! No! I can't!"

Dean stopped and turned to him, "Why not? It's not like your going to wolf-out in the middle of Main Street."

"But… I…" Sam stammered, heart jackhammering.

"But what?" Dean asked, one corner of his mouth turned up, "C'mon. You need a change of scenery."

Sam followed his brother and climbed into the passenger's seat as Dean took the driver's.

Dean cranked the volume on the stereo and Meat Loaf's "Everything Louder Than Everything Else" came blaring from the speakers.

SPN

John watched from the front window as the Impala pulled out of Bobby's driveway, the base from whatever song he was listening to could be heard pounding in the air around the vehicle.

Marmalade scratched at the man's leg and meowed. John glanced down at the animal. Whatever that cat was- whether it was even a cat- it had helped defend his boy from Martin Coslaw and the hunter could no longer look at the yellow feline the same way.

"They leave you behind too?" John asked the cat and reached down to scratch behind her ears.

"You want a cold one, Johnny?" Bobby asked from the kitchen doorway, a beer bottle in one hand.

"Sure," John replied and took the offered beverage.

Both men walked out onto the porch and sat on the two folding chairs leaning against the wall of the house.

Marmalade sat between the two hunters on the wooden porch boards, her keen blue eyes tracking some unseen prey across the landscape of the Salvage Yard.

SPN

Sam frowned when Dean pulled into the parking lot of an ice cream shop called 'The Dairy Barn'.

"We haven't been here in forever," Sam said and looked at Dean.

His brother just smiled. It was true. Whenever John had left his boys with Bobby while he went hunting- when Sam and Dean were only little- the grizzled hunter would treat them to ice cream at this shop. The brothers loved it; they didn't have a lot of money for many things- including food sometimes- and getting an ice cream cone or a sundae was something special.

As Sam and Dean had grown older though, John dropped them off at Bobby's less and less. Dean was starting to train as a hunter and John wasn't going to make the trip to Sioux Falls for only one of his sons. Sam often stayed in the motel room either with his brother- if John thought the hunt was too dangerous for his eldest- or on his own when their father wanted his boy to put that training into practice.

"I had a craving for something sweet and this is the best place in town," Dean replied as though he had completely forgotten about their trips here with Bobby.

W

The shop was just as Sam remembered it. The floors were tiled in a black-and-white checkerboard pattern, the boots and seats upholstered in red vinyl. The bar was faux-beige marble and a chalkboard overhead showed their menu. The walls were painted in a large mural showing a heard of dairy cows and a smiling farmer with a green tractor. The waitresses wore blue-flannel print shirts and jeans to keep with the farmyard theme.

Not only an ice cream shop, the Dairy Barn also boasted a wide selection of burgers, milkshakes, two kinds of French fries and pie.

Dean and Sam went to a booth near the back and sat down. Both brothers, without even really thinking about it, knew what they wanted already.

"I can't believe this place is still here," Sam muttered, "I thought they would have turned it into a Dairy Queen or Baskin Robins by now."

Dean shook his head. Sometimes the small-town, family-run businesses were better than chain restaurants and this was proof. The place was packed with people, talking, laughing and eating ice cream or burgers.

A curly-haired waitress approached their table.

"Welcome to the Dairy Barn," she said with a smile, "My name's Maryann, would you like menus?"

"Actually," Dean said, "I think we already know what we want."

"Do you still have those awesome Banana Splits you use to make?" Dean asked and Maryann nodded, "We sure do. One of our best sellers."

Dean smiled. Besides what was in pie and the Dairy Barn's famous Banana Splits, he rarely ate any fruit. He made exceptions for those two desserts though.

"And you?" Maryann asked, turning to Sam.

"Vanilla milkshake," the fourteen-year old replied.

Dean smirked. Of course, how could he forget?

When they were younger, Dean would pick on his brother for ordering something as plain as a vanilla milkshake, especially when there were flavours like blueberry and butterscotch and mint chocolate chip to choose from. Sam though would ignore him and ask for vanilla. It was boring, yeah, but in their crazy life, sometimes boring was good.

"Coming right up," Maryann told them and left.

W

Sam and Dean enjoyed their ice cream in silence. They were content just to eat and listen to the civilians around them talk, happy in the knowledge that monsters did not exist.

Although the brothers said nothing to one another, the quiet between them was not strained.

They could communicate just as easily without words.

Sam knew why Dean had taken them here. Dean was telling him that he didn't have to be scared. Telling him that there was no bogeyman Coslaw hiding among the patrons or staff of the ice cream shop. No one was even paying them attention.

Sam felt the stress and worry begin to melt away with the dredges of his milkshake.

Maybe they could do this. Maybe it would all be alright. Maybe he didn't have to be afraid that someone- somehow- would look at him and know.

Dean sat back with a satisfied sigh, the boat-shaped dish in front of him clean.

"Ready to go back, Sammy?" he asked and the fourteen-year old nodded.

Dean left the money on the table and left the shop, feeling relaxed knowing that Sam was calmer now.

SPN

Abigail Noonan looked at the phone on her desk and bit her nails. She wanted to call Bobby, ask him how it was going with the boy but she didn't want to intrude.

She glanced at the clock on the wall and decided that she might as well.

It should be about nighttime in America anyway.

Picking up the phone, Abby dialed the hunter's number and waited as it rang and rang and rang.

Frowning, the Professor set the phone back down in its cradle and sighed.

"Maybe they've just gone out," she muttered, "Perhaps the time is off."

Abigail fretted and bit her nails for a few seconds before dialing Bobby's number again.

This time the phone was answered and Abby opened her mouth to ask if everything was alright.

"What the hell did you give us?! You've poisoned the boy!"

SPN

The light was fading from the sky quickly.

Bobby and the Winchesters were standing in the panic room- just in case- waiting.

Sam looked small and vulnerable with only a blanket draped over his shoulders, the shackles weighing heavily on his wrists and ankles.

Dean hadn't wanted to see Sam like that ever again but Bobby had decided that until they knew if the potion worked or not, it was better to be prepared. John had agreed.

Bobby handed Sam the mug with the strained potion inside.

The fourteen-year old took the cup, his fingers shaking slightly.

Sam sniffed the drink and wrinkled his nose.

"I hope it doesn't taste as bad as it smells," he tried to joke.

John glanced at his watch, "Better drink, Sam."

The teen nodded and brought the mug to his lips.

Sam drank deeply with his eyes clenched shut. He didn't stop until the mug was empty. Shuddering at the foul taste, like rotting vegetables and pennies, Sam looked up.

He didn't feel any different. The only thing that had changed was the now awful aftertaste in his mouth.

Frowning, Sam held the mug out to Bobby, "I don't-"

His words were cut off as agony ripped through his abdomen, a searing pain that reminded him of when Coslaw had shot him and the mug slipped from slack fingers; ceramic shattering on the cement floor.

Sam heard three voices calling his name as he doubled over, feeling as though someone had shoved a red-hot poker into his stomach.

He felt hands gripping his shoulders and realized that he was on his hands and knees.

The pain gnawed at him and clawed upward, spreading.

"Ah!" Sam cried and collapsed on the cold floor.

SPN

Dean jumped into action as soon as Sam gasped.

Something was not right.

"Sammy!" Dean cried and grabbed at his brother as Sam doubled over, knees buckling seconds later and he landed on the ground.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean clutched his sibling's shoulders and tried to force him up.

Dean was aware of Bobby and John calling his name, calling Sam's name, tugging at the both of them but he only had eyes for his brother.

"Get up, Sam!" Dean begged and wrenched Sam out of the fetal position.

His brother's face was pale as wax and twisted in pain. Tears streamed unchecked from his wide, staring eyes and his mouth was open in a silent cry of agony.

It was the most horrifying thing Dean had ever seen.

He pulled Sam against him, hugging his brother, shielding him from Bobby and John's clutching hands.

He didn't know what was happening but he knew that he wasn't going to leave Sam alone. No matter what happened.

Sam's body twitched uncontrollably as though he were having a seizure. Sweat beaded his brow and dripped down his face, mixing with tears.

Dean was vaguely aware of the telephone ringing upstairs.

SPN

Stop! Please! Make it stop! Dean! Dad! Mom! Make it stop!

The pain was tearing him apart, killing him.

He couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't feel anything but agony. Every nerve ending raw.

The pain was never going to cease. He would remain this way, suspended in this torture until the end of days.

Sam had no sense of time. It could have only been seconds that passed, or years.

He almost didn't believe it when, just as suddenly as it had began, the pain faded.

His senses came back, clear and sharp. He could feel his chest pressed against someone else's. He could feel the fierce heat poring off that other body, feel the heart beating strong and quick in the chest. He felt arms like vices wrapped across his back. He smelled sweat- his or someone else's- and the faint, coppery tang of blood. His ears throbbed, every sound suddenly too loud: harsh panting breathing and a grinding sound.

"Sammy?" the whispered voice asked and Sam knew exactly who it was now.

Dean.

"D'n," Sam tried to speak but blood filled his mouth.

He felt his brother pull him away; hold him at arm's length.

Sam swallowed. The inside of his mouth stung. He must have bit himself.

"Sammy," Dean murmured and pulled him into a hug again.

"Jesus Christ," a deeper voice from above said and Sam lifted his eyes to see his father standing nearby, his face flushed with panic.

Stomping footsteps caused Sam to flinch in pain and he felt Dean tighten his grip.

"He's… he's okay," John said quietly and Bobby muttered a curse.

"Damn Abby," he swore, "I was about to book a flight to England and wring her Limey neck!"

"I think its over," Dean said, "Can we get Sam into bed?"

Sam's eyes were already closing, exhaustion creeping in, as the shackles were unlocked and he was picked up, the blanket covering his nakedness.

The fourteen-year old was completely asleep even before Dean had reached the top of the stairs, his head resting against his big brother's chest.

SPN

Dean carefully laid Sam down on his bed, draping the blanket from the basement over him before pulling the sheets up to his chest.

Marmalade, who had been barred from the basement until they knew what the potion would do, leaped onto the bed with an irritated meow at Dean. She crept across the mattress to Sam's side and lay down beside him, her small triangular head resting on his shoulder.

Dean reached out and rubbed between the cat's ears for a moment before turning quietly and leaving the room.

As he came down the stairs he found Bobby and John in the kitchen.

"Well," Bobby said carefully, "Looks like the potion works."

John glared at the older hunter, "I thought Sam was dying."

"We all did, Dad," Dean replied, "But he seems alright now. He's sleeping."

The three men didn't speak for a long moment before Dean broke the silence.

"Is Sam going to drink it again tomorrow?"

W

Sam remained in bed for the rest of the night, fast asleep, and still did not rise when the next day began.

Dean was concerned for his sibling but Sam clearly needed the rest. His face was still very pale and he had dark circles beneath his eyes.

Dean sat on the edge of Sam's bed, playing with his brother's bangs.

"How are you feeling?" he asked his drowsy sibling.

"'Kay," Sam muttered.

Dean chewed his lip for a moment, "There's still two more nights, Sammy."

Sam's green eyes, glassy though they were with fatigue, sharpened at the words.

"And?" he asked.

"And…" Dean hesitated, taken aback by Sam's sudden focus, "Well, Dad and Bobby and I were talking last night and decided that we weren't going to tell you what to do but… You have to drink that potion today and tomorrow so you won't turn… but if not…"

"I'll change," Sam finished for him.

Dean nodded.

"It was really scary Sammy," he spoke again, "I… we… thought you were dying. Really."

Sam closed his eyes halfway, thinking.

"I don't even remember the pain…" he said slowly, "I mean, I know it was there… but it's faded. Like it happened a long time ago."

"I just don't know if I can see that again," Dean confessed.

Sam looked at him, "Than you can leave. I can deal with it. I'm not going to change again."

Dean didn't respond for a long time and then he nodded.

This was what Sam wanted. Really. Now he didn't have to fear the full moon every month. He didn't have to be afraid that he'd hurt anyone. But at what price?

SPN

Sam took the plastic cup Bobby handed him. They were in the living room, not the basement, and Sam was fully clothed since they were fairly sure he would not transform.

Sam closed his eyes and drank down the foul-tasting liquid.

He sensed Dean at his side, ready to grab him if he should collapse.

Sam took a deep breath that hitched in his chest as pain blossomed in his belly.

It squirmed and wormed like insects, the pain red and hot, though not as bad as the first time.

Sam opened his eyes and staggered; Dean reaching out to grab his arm.

"I'm okay," Sam grunted and lowered his head, trying to ride through the pain.

"Sit down," Dean said and lowered Sam to the floor.

"Dean," Sam whimpered and reached out blindly for his brother.

He relaxed as much as he could when he felt Dean's arms wrap around him, comforting.

Dean raised his hand and pressed his palm to the back of Sam's head.

Sam panted as the pain spread, slithering like snakes throughout his insides.

"Shhh," Dean murmured, "I've got ya. It's okay."

SPN

"Must be his body's getting accustomed to the potion," Bobby said as Dean helped Sam lay down on the couch.

"So the pain will eventually go away?" John asked.

Bobby shrugged, "Seems like."

The father gave a worn smile and Bobby returned the gesture.

Poor Sam was down for the count again though. Even though it was clear the pain wasn't as intense as it had been the night before, it had still wreaked havoc on the boy.

But it was lessening at least.

Hopefully, one day, he might drink the potion with no pain.

It made sense though, now that Bobby thought about it. The potion was forcibly preventing a change that now would be as natural to Sam's body as breathing. No wonder it hurt like hell to keep that transformation from happening.

Just one more night of this and they could all breathe easy until next month.

SPN

Sam looked out the back window of the Impala sleepily.

Last night hadn't been as bad as the first two.

Bobby had been right; the pain was fading with each draught he took of the potion.

He knew it still scared Dean- and his Dad- but he would take this over becoming a bloodthirsty monster.

He would never be able to forgive himself if he ever hurt anyone. So, he'd endure the pain if it meant keeping innocent people safe.

Marmalade stepped onto his lap and pushed her head against the underside of his chin.

Sam chuckled and ran a hand down the cat's back and tail.

Bobby waved from the porch. He looked sad to see them leave but John had insisted. He'd gotten a call of a rugaru terrorizing the citizens of a small town in Oklahoma and wanted to go after the creature.

Sam frowned. Rugaru's had once been people. It was the insatiable desire for human flesh that they were unable to resist that turned them into monsters.

Like me.

No, not like me. I am not a monster. Not anymore. I can control myself. I can control this curse.

"Meow," Marmalade interrupted Sam's thoughts and he sighed, drawing the cat towards him and burying his nose against her soft, warm fur.

Releasing the cat, Sam smiled when Kansas' "Hold On" began playing from the Chevy's speakers.

Dean peered over his shoulder and smiled.

"Ready to get back to work?"

Sam nodded.

This wasn't over. His life wasn't over. He could make this work. Would make this work. No one had to know he was a werewolf. He would hide it, could hide it. Now that they knew the potion prevented him from changing, Sam didn't feel as scared as he had before.

They would be careful, cautious and everything would be fine. Sam knew his brother and father would keep him safe.

Safe.

That was a something he thought he'd never be again.

But as Sam rode down the highway with his father and brother and the familiar music blasting from the speakers, the comforting drone of the Impala's wheels on the asphalt, that is exactly what he felt.

Safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfic title comes from a combination of a Metallica song and an Edgar Allen Poe poem.


End file.
